


Social Outcast

by deviantdanni



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Torture, assassin Ja'far, very forward Sinbad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6992362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviantdanni/pseuds/deviantdanni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ja'far is a new student at Brimlock High School. As a bibliophile, he had hoped he would be spending all his free time reading. But after almost failing in History, Ja'far is pushed into applying for a tutor. Little did he know his tutor would be the popular, annoying teen that seemed to be making his life harder by the minute. Not to mention his secret job has suddenly gotten...complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Junior Year

This day seems to be just as dull and uneventful as any other.

Bundling first years shuffling back and forth through the halls; lost no doubt. Boys leaning against the lockers, as if ready to dissolve onto the floors, while the girls primped. Their overly powdered faces looking into the locker mirror they all seemed to own. The halls contained accumutations of various groups of teenagers, each one at least three feet away from the next. Huddled around each other, trading summer experiences and gossip. I never understood the need to blabber about one's life as many seem to enjoy. They try so hard to put themselves on a pedestal, not caring about who they tear down in the process. Why is it always about 'one upping' the other? I find much more peace ignoring my peers and focusing on the reason we come here five days out of the week. To learn and prepare for the future.

Ja'far kept a straight face as he opened his assigned locker (silently proud he opened it on his first attempt) and placed his shoulder bag onto the hook and dropped his notebooks to the bottom. Picking up his flip phone to check the time; 7:58am, he had a minute before the first bell. Taking a quick look down at his class schedule, he saw that his first class was in room 231, US2 History with Mr. Stanley. The paper did not say which floor but he could only assume that with a number in the 200s, it would be on the second floor.

A few eyes landed on him as he pulled open the stair doors, but they quickly lost interest. Ja'far knew he was an eyesore, one that people scrutinized in fervor, ignorantly assuming it was his choice to have this appearance. As if he would bleach his body or cut himself just to gain attention, it was idiotic. Not only the students, but the teachers were imprudent as well. The only amenity he could enjoy under the judgemental gazes was to count the number of steps it took to walk from one class to the next. And even that soured after a few weeks.

Ja'far let out a small huff before grabbing his bag and walking off to class. "As long as they don't bother me, I can tolerate them," he said to himself, eyeing the door labeled '231'.

The room was half full, most of its occupants hanging over the backs of their chairs to chat with neighbors. A few more studious dwellers pulling out a notebook and pencil. Ja'far kept his mouth in a fine line as he walked to the back of the room. Choosing the desk in the far left corner, which was thankfully free of neighbors. Moving down the aisles, the males of the room graciously ignored him, but he could hear a few of the girls whispering about his attire. Ja'far could barely resist a snort at the shallowness.

Looking down at his plain clothes, Ja'far rolled his eyes. "Why does it matter what I wear if we are here to listen and write? It is not a private school, so casual wear is perfectly fine," he huffed in his head.

Ja'far wore a simple white t-shirt, collarless, with dark navy cargo pants and black sneakers. Lowkey and effective, just as he liked it. But what he did not know was that the girls were not looking at his shirt or pants, but analyzing the bandages that covered his arms, save for his hands. He knew that it was not common to wrap one's arms as he did, but kids get into accidents, and he played it off that way. The bandages he wore were light weight and breathed in a way that long sleeved shirts just did not pull off. However their true value was behind their ability to perfectly hide his most undisclosed of coverts. The only downside was that the sight of such mysterious bandages seemed to pull in every curious eye.

"Brriiiiiinnnnggg"

"Ok, students sit down, the bell has wrung," the scruffy teacher cleared his throat, loosening his tie with a tired face. The class slowly quieted down, taking their time to turn and face the front. Groans could be heard as the students had to face facts; summer was over and it was time to learn.

"So for today I will be introducing the cariculum for the year, informing you on the items you will need for this class, and of course filling out the emergency information cards," the teacher unenthusiasticly statemented. A chorus of moans and gripes following as if on a timer. Ja'far held back a laugh. "This is a simple day, I don't see why they are dreading it so much. We aren't even reading or taking notes," he chorted to himself.

"Alright, this year we will be reading about the-," the middle aged teacher continued with a smile once he began telling his class of their soon to be lessons. Ja'far blocked out the man's speech as he reached for his book. It was not too lengthy, but the plot seemed interesting, and as far as he had read the author had a good grasp on his thoughts. It was mostly a philosophical novel, with some of the best hypotheses about the mind and how it relates to one's body and soul. Much more interesting than the assigned books he had to suffer through over the summer. Although he did find an adventure book amusing once in a while, he had hoped the schooling system would pick novels with a bit more challenge. All of the assigned books were no thicker than his hand and were too quick to reach the climax. None of them played with his mind or made him question his part in the world, they were curt and lifeless. But he read them quickly and wrote the essay with as much feeling as he could give. Describing them as dull and uneventful. He was sure his teachers would agree.

"Apparently one of us has found something more important to do than paying attention. You, in the back, put the book away," the teacher said, an octave lower than normal to show he was serious. Ja'far blankly stared at the heads that turned to watch him. Quietly Ja'far put the book below his chair and looked forward once again. "Oh, well. I can always read during gym class and lunch anyway."

After a small nod the teacher cleared his throat, signaling to his student to face forward. The students, most probably out of fear of getting detention on their first day, turned back to face forward. Ja'far gave a silent thanks to the man, even though he forced him to put his book away, he was glad to have those eyes off him. If there was anything he hated more than people, it was groups of people watching him. Breathing a little in relief, he let his eyes scan the room. There were a slew of inspirational posters, large blue history books gathering dust on an old bookshelf and a string of flags hanging on the wall from countries all over the globe. Ja'far absentmindedly picked at his notebook.

From the corner of his vision he could see a pair of eyes still watching him. It made his back involentarily shiver, but he fought it off. With a small scowl he turned his face in the direction of the prying eyes, hoping to deter the curiosity. It was a boy a few seats to his right, and he was just…staring. Ja'far narrowed his eyes, gesturing to the boy to put his attention elseware. But the boy did not seem to grasp his body language and gave a smile in return. Ja'far blinked as the boy had the gall to raise his hand up to wave. It looked like he was going to speak, but was cut off when a red headed boy leaned over and whispered into his ear. The boy laughed once before facing forward.

He seemed to be a social creature. After leaving the classroom, Ja'far could see the boy talking animatedly with a few other students. His hair was dyed a deep purple and was held back by a low-hanging ponytail. His clothes, expensive no doubt, looked brand new. He was sporting knee length black shorts with silver trim and a black-on-white plaid shirt and a matching sweatshirt. His laugh was loud and bounced down the halls, practicly calling out to the other students 'hey, I am much happier than you! Come and join me in a laugh'. Or at least, that is what Ja'far felt, and it was annoying him greatly. "Does he honestly have to laugh at such a volume?!" Ja'far sneered, but kept it quiet. He did not want to create a scene so early in the year. Repositioning his things in silence, he let the disturbance brush off him as he hurried to his next class.

English class, now this was something he could relate to and possibly the only class he looked forward too. He slid into the farthest left seat once again, placing his things under the chair, and pulled out his book with ease. The teacher had not entered the room yet, so he had time to read a page or two. The sound of the laughing teen had died off somewhere in the hallway; a fact that Ja'far was quite happy about. Settling comfortably into the concrete-like plastic, Ja'far studied the room and its inhabitants. Only ten or tweleve students were present mulling about, there was two bookshelves with novels of all sizes, and behind the teacher's desk was a pull down screen with a projecter attatched.

Absentmidedly flipping to the next page, Ja'far kept his focus completely on the written words in his hand. With his mind stuck between the margins, he was caught off guard when a foot crashed into his left side feild of vision. His chair went flying back, carrying his body along with it onto the harsh floor. The fall caused his head to make a sickening thump on the thin carpet, while his book fluttered almost silently to the ground. Ja'far let out a grunt as the air involuntary left his chest.

"H-hey, Judal that was kinda going…too far," a feminine voice whispered. The only sound in the now deathly silent room. The boy to her right scoffed and stuck his chin in the air.

"I don't care. His face was just weirding me out. And who bleaches their hair anyway?" the boy complained, reaching down to the ground to pick up Ja'far's book. A spark of pure evil intent in his pitch black eyes.

The disoriented teen rubbed at his throbbing head, feeling a small cut near the back. Ja'far's eyes narrowed as he saw his attacker picking up his book with a snicker. He jumped to his feet in an instant, ripping the book from Judal's hands like a viper striking its prey. The room's silence was a defening ring in his ears. Ja'far did not give a second glance at the violent troublemaker while he patted down his shirt and pants of dirt. Making a mental note of his physical appearance, black hair, tan skin and dark clothes. Ja'far was normally against revenge and its pointlessness, but that did not mean he was merciful. He would remember this incident, that was certain. And without another word, Ja'far quietly leaf the room to wash the blood from his head.

Judal laughed at Ja'far's retreating form and gave the small girl to his left a forceful punch on the shoulder. The girl winced at the blow and frowned sadly before walking to take a seat.

"Next time he will choose another seat. Only normal people are allowed around me, no freaky-ass weirdos," the boy snickered, flopping into the seat Ja'far once occupied.

The hallways were empty after the last bell rang, except for the one small student calmly walking to the boy's bathroom. Silently hoping that he did not need stitches, Ja'far poked at his skull. The last thing he needed was a hospital visit.

"Late-late-late-late!" A voice grew from far down another hall.

Ja'far raised an eyebrow at the chant coming from around the corner, but pushed it aside. The sound of running feet came closer and closer ashe walked and Ja'far resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the tell tale signs of a tardy student. "Some idiot, you are not supposed to be run-," Ja'far started, but was cut off.

"Whaa!"

"Uf!" Ja'far closed his eyes tight as his head once again hit the cold and unforgiving floor. The heavy mass that had run into him now lying on his chest. His vision was stark white as his head swam in circles, small stars shooting in and out of his vision. The body on top of him jumped up in an instant and there was a distant voice yelling in his ear.

"Hey are you alright?!" The voice's volume growing into shouts after he had been lying on the cool tile for a minute or two.

"…s-stop yelling…teachers might…in trouble," Ja'far mumbled, pushing the blurry figure away from him and trying to get to his feet. An arm forced its way under his shoulders and slowly pulled him up.

"Shit, your bleeding," the blur silently noted.

Ja'far turned to the sharpening blur that ran into him with a frown. He saw golden eyes that shined with worry, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and tan skin. "Oh no it's that idiot from History class," Ja'far growled in speculation, yanking his arm free and starting his walk down the hall. Albeit a little slower than before, as the world still on its side so far as he could tell.

"Wait, the nurse's office is the other way. Come on, I'll take you," the dark haired teen insisted. "This gives me an excuse for being late! Ah, poor kid, I hope he doesn't have a concussion," he mused.

"That is because I am going…to the bathroom," Ja'far grumbled, wanting to get away from the other as soon as possible.

"What? You might have to go to the hospital! Do you know your head is bleeding all over the place?!" The concerned teenager grabbed his arm and dragged him down the opposite hallway. His face scrunched in a distraught exspression as he saw red seeping through the snow white hair of the smaller teen.

"Do you know what today is? What is your name? How many fingers am I holding?!" He waved his palm in front of the unfocused eyes and waited for a reaction. When he recieved no movement he quickening his steps, despite the resistance he was easily winning against the wounded's planted feet.

"It's the 28th, I remember my name just fine, and would you stop waving your hand in my face! It is making me dizzy," Ja'far grumbled, finally accepting being dragged down the halls. His captor was at least a foot taller than him, his arms were muscular yet lean, and he could pick him up with one hand, Ja'far griminced. "Not that I would let him. If my feet leave the ground I will bit his hands off," he growled.

"Fair enough," he sighed "I seriously apologize for running into you like that. I should've been looking where I was going. Are you okay?" The teen sounded distressed, putting a little more strength into holding the smaller boy up as they started down the stairs.

Ja'far stayed silent despite his waning patience, choosing to turn his head away from the other's question instead of ringing his neck which he so desired. This action only seemed to further the teen's worry and caused him stopped in his steps and set Ja'far down.

"I am really sorry. I can pay for the hospital bills if you would like. Can you walk?" The teen plucked through the stained white hair. Ja'far slapped the hand away without a second thought.

"I am fine. Go to your class, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own," Ja'far stepped away from the invading fingers and walked down the rest of the stairs.

"Are you-" the teen started, but was cut off.

"I'm fine," Ja'far quipped before exiting the stairs and walking quietly to the nearest bathroom.

Dunking his head into the sink, Ja'far silently watched as the white porcelain sink swirled with red as he washed out the blood. A few more dunks to make sure all the blood was gone, he stuck his head under the hand dryer and shook off the excess water. The cut was small and thankfully no stitches were needed. After drying off and fixing his hair, Ja'far left the bathroom and walked back to the English room. Not even thinking twice about the blood he left on the floor or the reminisce in the sink.

Knocking quietly on the door, Ja'far waited for a confirmation, and soon enough a yell was made to enter. All eyes clung to him as he opened the door, bowing his head low, he began his explaination for his reason for being late.

"I am sorry for rudely entering. I slipped on my way and had to go to the nurse," Ja'far stayed in his bow, waiting for a reply.

"That is fine, it is the first day after all. But please do not make a habit of this. There is a seat over there by Mr. Sinbad. Who, strangely, had a similar excuse as yours," the teacher gave an all knowing smile, letting his eyes peer over his thin glasses, nodding his head in the direction of the seat. Ja'far raised his head but kept his gaze on the floor as he walked to the seat, second row, and third coelom to the right. A displeased snort came from the back of the room. Ja'far didn't have to look to know it was the dark haired boy that kicked his desk over. Quickly settling in his seat, the pale teen tried to shake off the awkward atmosphere.

"This year we will be discussing college essays and SATs, the proper way to…" The teacher, a relatively young man, maybe around his early thirties, continued to explain the year's plan. English was the only subject that Ja'far found a common interest in, so he listened intently, a little disappointed to hear that most of their year would be spent on practicing for exams and writing essays to please future collages. Ja'far wanted to learn about the mechanisms in writing, read novels and discus their meanings, and really learn about English. But the faster he got through the exams, the more time the class would have to enjoy literature.

Ja'far felt a finger poking into his side, keeping his face straight, he suppressed the hiss on his tongue. He narrowed his eyes, keeping his head forward as he slapped the hand at his side, not hard enough in Ja'far's mind; seeing as he felt the appendage digging into his side right after he had slapped it away.

"Pppsst," came a whispered noise. Ja'far ignored the sound, not wanting to disturb the class any further. A frown on his face when he recognized the voice. Of all the classes in this school. Ja'far resisted the urge to rub at his temples and relieve some of the stress that had piled up there. What I would do for a cup of tea right now.

After ignoring the other's insisting for a few more minutes the period bell rang. Ja'far felt bitter sweet about the bell. On one hand he could get away from the annoying teen who seemed rather amused with poking at him, but on the other hand he would also have to leave English class. With a sigh the pale boy rose from his seat and hurried out the door.

"Hey wait! Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital or a doctor? Did you even see the nurse?" came a voice, the sound of running feet right behind him.

"I have told you multiple times already. I am fine. Now if you'll excuse me, we both have classes to go to, and I do not wish to be late to another," Ja'far mumbled, glancing at the taller teen for a moment before disappearing into the crowd.

The next class was on the first floor, Spanish III, a relatively interesting language. It didn't appeal to Ja'far as much as English, but it did teach of sentence structures and grammar, so he could find some pleasure in learning it. He quickly walked to the back of the room, once again feeling déjà vu as the teacher began explaining the year's curriculum. Only this time she spoke completely in Spanish. Ja'far could understand some of it, but he wasn't an expert, so most of it went right over his head. Looking back it seemed many of his classmates appeared to be thinking the same.

"Los estudiantes, hoy vamos a discutir las tarjetas de información y…" The teacher started, telling the students that they would be discussing the information cards and what to fill out for emergency numbers.

"Pssssst!" Came a hushed noise.

God, if there was ever a better time to strike me down, it would be now.


	2. Bullet Wound

"Pssssst!" came a hushed noise.

God, if there was ever a better time to strike me down, it would be now.

"Psssssssssssst!" the soft sound came again, Ja'far refused to turn toward it, fisting his hands at his side to keep from growling. A few of the other students turned questioning looks to the boy leaning over in his chair. A few even turned to Ja'far, who the teen was obviously trying to reach. Can't the teacher see this?! Ja'far thought with a bit of anger.

"Hey~ Is your head okay?" the teen whispered, holding up his Spanish book to hide his head. Ja'far finally let the growl pass his lips. Giving in to responding to the annoying boy.

"Leave me alone," he whispered back, pulling out his notebook to busy himself with something other than this conversation. I should have just said nothing…. Ja'far glowered as he saw the boy's eyes sparkle at his voice. Even though he told the boy to leave him be, he seemed to be happy enough by just him answering.

No one bothered me like this at the other schools. Ja'far turned away from the violet haired nucience, giving him a clear view of his back. Hoping that he would take that as a sign to stop his constant chattering. I do not see what has him so…insistent.

The rest of the period consisted of jotting down small notes of what to bring to the next class, and of course, Ja'far ignoring the persistent teen all together. But soon the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Ja'far rushed passed the other students, shoving out of the room as quick as he could. Looking back with a small glance he was glad to see the boy wasn't chasing after him. So he disappeared down the hall and walked to his next class, a study room. A pleasant enough period where you were allowed to do homework or read. A time scheduled for reading!

As long as a certain idiot doesn't ruin it for me. Ja'far kept the comment to his self. Throwing his class books into his locker before walking off to the room. The halls were clearing out, only ten or fifteen students hanging around their lockers. Keeping his head down, Ja'far felt the eyes of his peers boring into his head. For a boy that wanted nothing but to blend in, he stood out like a sore thumb. The majority of the population hand brown or black hair, a few having sandy or blonde hair, natural or not. And of course there was the occasional red head or dyed rainbow hair, but no white, except for a few of the teachers. Ja'far was the only student with pure white hair. People murmured about him being an elderly man, or a rebel that bleached his head, or a teen that went so insane his hair died. Not that I haven't heard it all before. As much as I wish I could write it off as teenage rebellion. It is simply the color of my hair.

The study room teacher was a quiet lady, thin and lengthy, with a pair of tiny glasses hanging on her neck. She spoke in a small voice, telling the few students that listened to take out any book or magazine they wished to read and to keep the noise at a minimum. Ja'far almost smiled at her, the elderly lady seemed so sweat and quiet. But he just blinked and pulled out his book. A relieved sigh passing from his lips as he noticed that a certain teen was not here. And it seemed that the class was not paying attention to him, so he could read in peace.

A buzzing came from his front pant pocket, Ja'far's eyes lost their relaxed shine, his body froze. He slowly closed his book and walked up to his teacher, respectfully asking to use the restroom. She gave a small smile and nodded.

Walking out into the hallway Ja'far pulled out his phone, an outdated model, but worked well enough. His eyes narrowed as he opened the text message, flipping his phone closed and stalking down the hallway. The once peaceful, bored, quiet demeanor changed into one of cold, powerful anger. The air around him tangible with malice. Pure unbridled anger that sent a wondering freshman scurrying out of the hall and into the nearest room.

I had hoped to be assigned on nonacademic days. I do wish to get an adequate education after all. If they insist to call me in during school hours I might have to drop out altogether. Perhaps I can get my degree online, it seems to be a rising option, opposed to school. At least then I could choose the hours, and I wouldn't have to be surrounded by children five days out seven. But then I will not get the hands on lesson. Ah, well I can just study in college. Ja'far pushed open the hall doors with a powerful force, not caring about the slam they made on the walls. That is if they let me further my education.

Ja'far stomped his way to the school's side exit, eyes set forward as he neared the doors.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

A terribly familiar voice came from down the hall. Ja'far felt his anger grow as it did, hurrying to the doors with a faster pace. The violet haired teen ran up and went to grab forhis shoulder, but found a tiny grip on his wrist instead. Sinbad closed his mouth, staring at the pale hand pushing his wrist away.

Ja'far turned on a dime and threw open the doors of the school. Sinbad looked around, a frown on his face at the retreating form of the white haired boy. With a sigh he pushed open the doors and ran after the boy.

I didn't really care about the first day anyway. Ja'far glared as he heard the approaching footsteps. Whipping his head around with his face set into a scowl.

"Do not follow me. Return to your class," Ja'far spat with venom, his hands twitching, wishing nothing more than to whip out his knives and place them at the boy's neck.

Wow, where did this come from? "You should get back to class too. I only came out here because I saw you were leaving school. That isn't allowed, you could get into serious trouble," Sinbad pressed, moving to grab the white haired boy by the back of his shirt to drag him back to the school building.

"It is not a prison, I should be able to leave as I see fit," Ja'far pulled away from the extending hand.

"But the school is responsible for you during school hours; you have to be where they can what over you. It isn't so bad," Sinbad tried.

"If I am on school property they should take responsibility, but they should not have authority over me if I wish to leave or am not on the school grounds. As I said, this is no prison, they cannot keep me hear," Ja'far swiftly ran from the spot, not wishing to argue this ridiculousness notion.

"Hey! Wait!" Sinbad ran after the boy, hoping to convince him to come back, but after turning the corner, he could not see head nor tail of the strange teen. Where did he go?

~PageBreak~

Ja'far's face was a blank stare, the only movement was his occasional blinking. The room he stood in was dark and damp, smelling somewhere between wet cardboard and dust. It was a void of silence, except for an ocasional dripping noise coming from some far off corner.

"Here is the target. He walks from the west side bank around this time," A photograph was passed to his hands. Ja'far studied the face for a few seconds before promptly giving it back. "Go."

Ja'far bowed lowly, turned and quickly left the dark room without a word.

~PageBreak~

The man was easy to find: easy to bring into a secluded area: an easy target.

He was dressed in a business suit, happily marching down the street to his black Sudan. Ja'far followed him from a safe distance, before becoming a shadow in one of the side alleys. The man was opening the door to his car when he heard the noise.

"h-help…h..elp!" A small, weak, voice came from the small alley behind him. The tall buildings cloaked the area in complete darkness, but a small figure could be seen moving near the back. James Rute had never been a heroic man, but he had a daughter, and the voice was shockingly similar. With a small gulp, he walked over to the dark alley.

"Um…Are you alright in there?" James asked, stepping into the shade. "Do you need help?"

The small figure stood up, limply walking over to the light. Its height only coming a few inches past his stomach. Poor thing, must have lost her mom. James smiled and kneeled to the ground on one knee. Stretching out his arms to the child.

"Hey there sweetie. Are you lost? Is your mommy or daddy around here?" James smiled, seeing the small girl; a platinum blonde with short hair. A reflecting light caught his eyes, he squinted from the light. I-is that….a knife?!

The child smiled, its eyes hidden under thick bangs, pulling triangular shaped knives out from under seemingly innocent sleeves. Stumbling back, James's eyes widened as the little girl grew in height, as if she was only standing on her knees. The crazed smile stretching as the knives fell from her hands, red strings held from the ends. The knives swung with a furious speed, faster than the shocked man could follow. A gurgled noise escaped his throat before his lifeless body hit the ground with a sickening thump. The child-like killer stashed the knives up its sleeves before grabbing onto the man's feet and pulled his body into the darkness.

After properly diposing the body, and cleaning the pavement, the killer flipped open his phone.

"Mission complete," the tone used to offer these two words was dead and lifeless.

"Understood," came a resonating voice slithering out of the phone's speakers. "Report back and prepare for your next target."

"Yes," the assassin shut his phone and walked out of the alley, dusting off his pants and calmly walking down the street.

~PageBreak~

"The next target will not be out until tomorrow morning. Use this time to restock. Leave before dawn," A burly man spoke, throwing over a manila folder to his much younger coworker. A small photo was clipped to its corner, a young woman probably in her late twenties or early thirties.

Ja'far nodded to the weapon's specialist, opening the folder and leaving the information room. His shoes echoing down the small hallway as he walked to the storage room. A single person was restocking, counting the numbers of bullets to number of guns, the amount of knives, iron knuckles, chains, saws, exploding devises, whips, and the like. Anything you can image that could end a person's life was in this room. And it was this man's job to make sure they had plenty of each item. Ja'far bowed to the man, grabbing a sharpening stone and a few packets of bullets and a jar of paralyzing poison. Making sure to show the man so he could write the number of items down.

He had a resting room in the base, a four-walled room that housed a single cot for furniture. But that is all he needed for the few times he stayed here over night. Ja'far served his job well, but he knew better than to put his trust completely into the people here. Each one was an expert, trained and ready; to end the life of any person they chose.

After collecting all he needed for restock, Ja'far walked into his room; number 46 to be exact. Carefully setting up the sharpening stone and opening the folder to read the information on his next target. The silence of the base was a welcoming peace after the day he had filled with shrieking teenagers. But it held an eerie feeling, it was trained silence. Once he started scrapping the rocks against his knives, the silence was bearable.

The woman's name was Claire Lee Hill, 36, married, and was an up and coming painter. She worked in her home most of the time but also worked at an art studio on Eleventh. Ja'far guessed her assassination was paid for by a jealous coworker or some meaningless competition stress from another painter.

There were pages upon pages of information on the woman, background, childhood home, friends, lovers, anything and everything. But Ja'far didn't care for that. All he cared to read was her name, where to look, and her face. He didn't need to know anything more.

After sharpening both of his blades, Ja'far set the rocks down, coiled the red wires around his arms and stashed the weapons. Pocketing the extra bullet packs for the one gun he had on his upper thigh and checking to make sure all the knives he had strapped to his legs were in place. After locking the door, eight different ways, and using his sharpening stones as door weights, Ja'far walked over to the cot to lie down. It had taken a few years to learn how to sleep while still being alert, but now it was second nature. It was as if sleeping with one eye open, but instead he kept his ears listening.

Closing his eyes, Ja'far shut off his mind to sleep, but he was still conscious enough to listen to anything that could try and open his door.

Hours went by in complete silence, only broken a few times by footsteps clacking by his door, other 'workers' getting supplies and intel. Nothing too abnormal. The organization he worked for was one of the best, the costs were high, but the outcome was almost always favorable to the client. They were quick and clean; reliable. They were known on the streets as Al's Men. You wanted a person out of the picture; you hire one of Al's men. Al was the mind behind every aspect of the group, but you only meet him twice. The day you are hired and the day you are…dismissed. Ja'far had only met the man once so far and he was glad.

If he never met that man again it would be too soon.

Ja'far clamped his eyes shut tighter, willing his mind off the subject. A vision of purple swam in his half-conscious mind, violet pulled back into a hair tie, a bright smile. Ja'far felt his stressed brain mellow out, as if the color was somehow relaxing him. He dreamed of warm arms wrapping around his body and helping him up, hands running through his hair and a voice calling out to him. It caused an unfamiliar fire to spread and kindle in his chest, but as strange as it was it was not unwelcomed.

Ja'far could almost…smile... at how calm the dream made him feel. What is this? Why am I feeling this? Did I eat or drink something weird? Ja'far could do nothing against the giddiness he felt from this entity, he couldn't put his figure on it, but it was strong enough to make him content. Even if he was only half-conscious, this was a big feat.

It almost feels like a-

Ja'far started at the soft sound of footsteps outside his door. These were not the sounds of fellow killers. They were too soft to be anything other than someone who didn't want to be heard, but was not skilled enough to achieve true silence. And it wasn't just one. It sounded like many!

Ja'far could hear the distant sound of his neighbor's grunt. The scrapping of feet across the hall. Whispered orders. Shit! Ja'far jumped from his cot, just in time to see his door being kicked down, every one of the locks broken in the process. Four heavily armed men rushed his room and created a half circle. Each one with a high performance gun and bullet proof vest. One of the men, the farthest into the room, shouted out orders to the others. Ja'far crouched beneath his cot, out of sight from the intruders.

"We know you are there! Come out! This is the police!" the armed man shouted, he was a heavy set male around his mid-thirties, scruffy beard with a hardened scowl on his face. He had seen a body hide under the bed when he broke through the door, it was not yet confirmed if the target had a weapon, so he kept his gun at the ready. Signaling to his men to surround the bed, he aimed his laser precision rifle toward the floor.

Ja'far hissed under his breath. Someone leaked information to the cops! They betrayed the organization! They went against orders! They put his life in danger! Ja'far pulled the matchbox he kept in his pocket and lit a single strike. Throwing the small flame right onto the manila forlder, the white haired assassin was glad to see it catch immediately. The police officers jumped from the object that flew from under the bed, one even fired his gun, and another ran from the room when the folder caught fire. Ja'far held his breath at the sound of the gun, but thankfully it missed him.

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!" the leader yelled, stamping out the charred papers. "I will shoot in ten seconds should you refuse to cooperate."

Ja'far licked his dry lips, pulled his weapons tighter to his arms and crawled out from under the bed. Ignorance. I am just a child. I do not know what is going on. Then strike. It was a move he had perfected. His eyes widened at the men, his body shook, small sobs coming from his mouth. He let his hands raise into the air, wobbling the higher they got. The men put down their weapons, the leader whispered a few words to his men before kneeling to the floor.

"We won't hurt you, we came to get you out of here. Okay?" the man said softly, reaching out his hand to what looked to be a frightened little boy.

Ja'far walked forward, slowly inching toward the man. The police officer smiled at him. Once only a foot away Ja'far stilled his shaking body, bringing his hands up and slamming them into the man's face. A yelp caused the other officers to jump back in surprise. Ja'far threw the man's head into the concrete floor, standing at his full height of five feet, two inches, and pulled his knives from his upper arms. Using the blood red strings as an extention he wrapped them around two of the officer's necks, yanking them to the floor and choaking them into unconsciousness. Once they were down Ja'far ran into the hallway, his silver knives gripped tightly in his hands, quickly slicing the knee and stomachs of any policeman that got near him.

As good of an assassin he was, he was still young, and the entire base was crawling with highly skilled officers. They were prepared. This was planned! If the higher ups learn who it is…if Al found out…I can think about this later! I need to get out of this place first! Ja'far cleared one of the hallway he was in, flickering florescent lights, distant sounds of gunfire and shouts rushing after him. Ja'far panted from the strain, his small chest heaving as he regained his breath.

"You! Don't move!" a yell came from a passing policeman. He had run past the hall Ja'far was resting in, but stalked in when he saw the teen.

Ja'far growled, turning with lightning fast speed, the ends of his red wires twisted around in his knuckles and put in a good amount of his strength to swing the knives at the man. At the quick turn of the teen and shimmer of the deadly knives, the officer shot off two bullets toward the lower half of the boy. The red wires caught on the man's right arm and around his neck; the knives at the end sinking into his skin. The man screamed at the cutting of his flesh, before being yank hard on the concrete. Ja'far gave a grunt, running from the hall and turning quickly down the next. Trying to reach the closest exit, a relatively easy feat, if the base was not built like a labyrinth.

"There's blood down this way, sir!" a voice could be heard echoing from the hall that Ja'far had just ran from. His movements slowing down, but was still kept at a steady jog. The marching suddenly growing louder and louder. Ja'far cursed, gripping at his bleeding leg, trying to pick up speed. Damn cop! Can't even aim for the head!...There should..be a door going up to the ground level right around here-

"Ouff!" Ja'far felt the wind leave his chest as he was slammed into a solid mass, falling back onto the cement walls and sliding to the ground, his head hit the ground with a small thump. His bloody hand fell from his leg; which was trying to stop the flow of blood, and he shrieked in pain. Eyes swimming for a moment, he closed the rotating orbs before trying to get to his feet.

"We have a wounded suspect! Put your hands above your head!" came a shout from above Ja'far, a blurred image of yet another armed man crouching down next to him. "Medic!" He called out, another officer rushed to his other side. Hands were touching him. Fuck that!

"G-Get off me! Don't t-touch me! Fuck," Ja'far spat venomously, his hands reaching for his knives, but found them successfully held down. Fucking get away!

"Do not move," the first officer yelled, pinning the pale arms above the teen's head, scowling at the way he squirmed and cursed. The medic pulled out his supplies, quickly strapping an elastic around the teen's upper thigh and pulling it tight. Then wrapped a few feet of white gauze around the bullet hole. Ja'far hissed and struggled, glaring as more and more men came to surround him. But instead of getting prepared for a fight, they saw him as little threat and put away their guns. Ja'far took this as the lowest insult to his title. He used his one free foot to kick the man that hung over him directly in the face. The officer gave a crushed yelp before moving away to cradle his jaw and most likely broken nose. The medic paused in his quick patching, a worried expression on his face. Two more officers jumped on Ja'far, one to pin down his arms and the other for his legs. The two men pulled Ja'far into the air and carried him down the hall.

"Put me down!" Ja'far snarled, pulling his head up and latching his teeth into the arm of the man holding his wrists.

"Ah! Damn it kid, we are trying to save your damned life!" The man held his bleeding arm close to his chest, glaring at the boy. Ja'far's upper body had fell to the floor as the man dropped his wrists. Kicking out with his feet, he managed to wriggle his way out of the other man's grip. Once completely on the ground, Ja'far rose to his one good knee, pulling out his knives. The men still didn't bring their guns back out, they just raised their hands, slowly inching their way closer to him. Ja'far growled, narrowing his wild green eyes.

"Hey, listen kid. No one hear is going to hurt you. Now put down the weapons." The medic said, keeping his hands in front of him.

"YOU SHOT ME!" Ja'far seethed, grinding his teeth to ignore the pain in his leg.

"Because you were hurting our friends. If you put down the knives we can take you to a hospital. You can't get out of this, the whole block is surrounded and we have already taken everyone in this place under arrest. Just come quietly." The medic replied, kneeling down to the concrete.

Damn all these idots, treating me...like...a...

Ja'far felt his head fall to the right, his vision weaving as he tried to focus on the space between him and the men.

"Man, he looks like my son's age." One of the officers sighed. Ja'far growled, his arms falling, but still clinging to his weapons. The men surrounded him, grabbing at his arms and legs, whispering about him.

"D-don't…t-ouch…no!" Ja'far threw the rest of his strength to his feet, he kicked the arms around him and dodged the officers, running with a limp down the hallway. Loud shouts not even three feet behind him.

Ja'far could see the exit door sign, red and glowing, mocking him. He ran toward the sign, hands ready to grab the handle and run for freedom.

"Not so fast, kid," came the almost bored reply. Ja'far was lifted off his feet, a hand on the back of his shirt collar.


	3. Hospitalized

"Not so fast, kid," came the almost bored reply. Ja'far was lifted off his feet, a hand on the back of his shirt collar. Kicking his one good leg out and grasping the hand on his shirt. The rough material of his collar digging into his neck and cutting off his air way. Ja'far coughed raggedly, hands grasping onto the shirt for even the smallest bit of relief. The man gave a deep sigh before placing the gasping teen back onto the ground. One of his boots stepping onto the sides of his pants to make sure he did not run.

Ja'far sucked in the dusty air, hands soothing his neck as he gave a deadly growl to the men. Never before had he been bested like this. He was trained in the art of quietly killing, not frontal attack, and it seemed these men knew this. As they treated him as nothing more than a rebellious child. Using superior strength and numbers to make him look like a foolish child.

A few of the officers disbanded down the hallway, going to assist another group, as they deduced that Ja'far was no longer a threat. He would have yelled if his leg wasn't taking most of his attention away from the men.

"We have to get him to a hospital, sir. He has lost a lot of blood and is experiencing dangerous levels of stress," the medic saluted to the man that kept Ja'far in place. Said man grunted, looking down to see the way Ja'far seemed to be hyperventilating.

The burly man pulled a black mesh scarf from his side pack and wrapped it quickly around Ja'far's eyes. The pale boy hissed venomously, his hands, like a viper, shot out and clawed the man. The officer gave no sound of pain, but tightened the blindfold with a sharp tug.

The next thing Ja'far could feel his arms were pulled into handcuffs and his body being lifted into the air. The sound of sirens and shouted orders, cool wind, and the smell of a damp street was thrust into Ja'far's face. The motion of being carried enough to cause him to feel bile rising in his throat, stabs of pain flairing up from his leg. But he was quickly lied down on a soft flat surface. Rushed talking and sharp objects being poked into his arms. An ambulance. Ja'far reasoned, breathing through his mouth to relieve the thought in his mind that he was drowning.

What…am I going to do now? …It's over…I've been caught. Most likely going to jail…And because of my profession…most likely for life. Ja'far felt bitter tears in his eyes, but pushed them away, he was far stronger than some weeping child. This is just another challenge. All he has to do is give it some thought, planning, and he could get through it.

A hand untied the blindfold over his eyes, a bright light invading his sight, causing him to squint. Ja'far went to block the light with his hand, but found it strapped down.

"Relax, son. We are only here to help you," a female voice addressed him. A clear mask was put over his mouth, hands grabbing all over his body, pain erupting from his leg as the bullet was pulled from his thigh. A metallic clink as it was dropped into a silver bowl. The ambulance doors closed with a slam and the car raced down the street.

"Do you know where you are, son?" Came a familiar grunt; the officer that had grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Ja'far tried to sneer at the man, but it didn't have any of his earlier malice, and all that happened was a twitch of his lips. His strength seemed to have been washed away after the needles were stuck into his arms. And it was becoming increasingly harder to stay alert.

The man wanted to laugh at the sedated boy, who was most likely trying to escape by the way his hands were shaking on the straps, but failing miserably.

"You are in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?" The officer recited. Ja'far felt his mind panic for a moment, but shook it off. This was not the worst situation he has been in. And it will not be the last.

"….Depends…," Ja'far mumbled, his mouth slower than he had time to put into account.

"I will take that as a yes," the officer said with an almost joyous tone. Must be glad I'm talking. Probably wants to use it against me. "Are you affiliated with the group of hit-men known as "Al's Men." The officer pulled out a note pad and waited for Ja'far's answer. Meanwhile the ambulance roar and shook as it zipped through the streets.

"…no," Ja'far answered. The man scowled and wrote the answer down.

"Why were you at Al's men's hide out then?" the officer asked in an even tone, his voice clearly telling Ja'far to confess.

"…I was kidnapped this afternoon," Ja'far whispered, his head swimming in and out of consiousness.

"Hey don't knock the kid out yet," the officer ordered the medics, who in turn ignored the man completely. "Kidnapped? And why were you in possession of knives and used them against my men, who would be you rescuers," the officer challeneged.

"….I could not see…..it was dark and…I thought….it was them….to…..kill me," Ja'far closed his eyes, praying to no one in particular that in his half-awake mind his answers would fool the police. Play innocent. Just….a normal kid. "I…I didn't want to die!" Ja'far wept, his eyes opening a little to look at the police officer. His body shaking as he sobbed, tears rolling down his face and into the cot. One of the medics, a young man around his mid-twenties, grabbed his hand. Most likely trying to comfort him.

The officer gave a long sigh before flipping the note pad close and shoving it into his breast pocket.

"Where did you learn to fight? I have to say you have some real talent to take down so many of my men," the man used a much softer voice now. Ja'far relaxed into the cot and fell limp, his eyes still open a crack.

"….I used….to do….Karate…..Kamas…and the Bo staff," Ja'far mumbled, which wasn't a complete lie. He had in fact been taught forms of Karate. And his first weapons were the Kamas and Bo staff.

"What is your name?" the officer nodded before asking.

Ja'far didn't have the time to think what to answer. He had fallen unconscious before he had even heard the question.

~PageBreak~

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ja'far opened his eyes with a start. A young nurse leaping back in surprise at her patient suddenly jumping awake. She placed a hand over her chest before walking over and adjusting a few system buttons and flashing lights.

"It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?" the nurse asked sweetly, holding out a cup of water to the pale boy. Ja'far slowly grabbed the glass, but then gulped down the liquid with a greed he didn't know he possessed. Ja'far didn't care to answer the question, he had what seemed to be the essence of life in a cup, and it was working wonders on his sore throat.

The nurse saw that he wasn't going to answer, so she gave a small bow and left the room. Returning a few minutes later with a tray of food. Ja'far could practically feel the drool coming from his mouth at the sight. How long has it been since I've had food for breakfast? The food was simple pancakes, blueberry muffin, and a cup of orange juice, but it was Heaven.

"Thank you," Ja'far felt his lips move before he could stop himself. The nurse giggled and placed the tray on his lap.

"No problem! Is there anything you need?" she asked with her sweet voice, like that of a tiny bird.

Tea. What I would do for a cup of tea right now. Ja'far stopped himself from digging into the food. He glanced wearingly at the young women.

"…..Maybe…some tea?" Ja'far asked slowly at first before blurting the rest.

"Sure! I'll be right back. Do you want sugar and milk with that?" she smiled as she turned to the door.

"Um, just one sugar, no milk….please," Ja'far mumbled, uncomfortable when he saw a few other doctors and nurses walking by the room. The nurse giggled at Ja'far before nodding and walking down the hall.

Sitting back in the bed, Ja'far saw that his hands were not cuffed, there was nothing to keep him from running. So I am not under arrest….Seems the police believed my ploy. I can only hope the men that were cut down in my escape will not be put against me. The last thing I need is to be running from murder charges. Ja'far shoved the food into his mouth, not caring to use the utensils. His eyes studied the room, seeing one window on his left, a door to the right, and posters with inspirational animals. Ja'far frowned at the kitten with the bandaged paw. What kind of room did they put him in? This is just humiliating. Ja'far pushed the sheets off of him, setting the tray to the side and turning to get out of the bed. Slowly setting his feet on the cool tile floor when a wave of dizziness hit him. Ignoring the double images, Ja'far pushed onto his legs, tumbling to the ground as if he had only one leg.

"Uuf." Ja'far grunted as he hit the floor, the IV needle yanked from his arm, a small trail of blood streaming from where it once was.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ah, shit. Ja'far pulled himself into a sitting position and waited for the nurse or doctor to come in and scold him for getting out of bed. And it was only seconds before a strange man in a white coat, a different nurse, and a police officer ran into the room. The nurse gasped and ran over to the computers, shutting off all the alarms, and turning with a frown. The doctor gave a small chuckle at the pouting boy on the floor.

"I guess you have just realized that your leg was numbed," the doctor picked up a clip board attached to the front of his hospital bed. The nurse helped Ja'far back onto the bed and firmly told him not to get out. She cleaned the cut on his arm and stuck another IV needle a few inches higher.

The police officer gave a cough into his fist, eyeing the doctor.

"So the bullet didn't hit any arteries, no broken bones, and the stitching will just dissolve in about two weeks. Try not to strain the leg for a while, but you will be able to walk just fine after a couple days. So just relax, there isn't anything to worry about," the doctor smiled before leaving the room with the nurse by his side. The police officer walked over to the wall next to the bed and leaned against it with a sigh.

"You are one lucky kid," the officer said, with a mysterious tone. "Getting taken by Al's Men; I'm sure it was a traumatic experience. But I need to ask you a few questions before we can completely dismiss this case," Ja'far kept his face straight, but for sake of the situation, he fidgeted and grabbed at the sheets, trying to seemed scared.

"Do you remember any faces?" the officer asked, pulling out a familiar note pad. Ja'far wanted to scowl, but gave a shaky nod. "Can you describe it?"

"…Um…he was tall and had a brown scrubby beard…And, cheek bones..they kind of came out a lot….And he was muscular and wore a dark red hat," Ja'far mumbled, his fingers twirling in the sheets.

"Anything else? A tattoo or piercing?" the police officer asked.

Ja'far just shook his head. The police officer nodded and flipped the page.

"Ok, so where are you parents or guardians right now?" the officer pulled a chair over and sat down.

Ja'far turned his head to the side. The officer sighed and looked up at the pale boy.

~PageBreak~

"Ok, so where are you parents or guardians right now?" the police officer pulled a chair over and sat down.

Ja'far turned his head to the side. The officer sighed and looked up at the pale boy, waiting for an answer. After a few silent seconds went by he cleared his throat.

"We need to inform your guardian about the situation. And I am sure they are worried since you were missing all night. Plus you need them to discharge you from the hospital," the man said, his all-knowing eyes locking onto the dead green eyes that turned to face him.

"….They are not here," Ja'far said in a dead voice, his mind focusing on what to tell the cop instead of masking his expressions.

"Are they out of state? Who is in charge of you?" the police man asked, pushing up tall in his chair.

"I am of legal age to be without my guardians. I can check out myself," Ja'far spoke clearly, turning on the bed to try and leave the room.

"Woah, woah, there. I need some form of ID to prove your age and permission from your guardians. You cannot just leave on your own, and I highly doubt you can leave at all right now. Rest easy, the department is paying for the hospital time since you are a victim," the police officer said, standing in front of the bed to keep Ja'far from getting out.

"One of your men shot me," Ja'far scowled, but mostly because he had just remembered why he was in the hospital. I wonder how many of us survived or are in jail right now. Ja'far thought grimly. Does this mean…I have no more work? The thought was a strange one. It had been so long that Ja'far did not remember a life out of assassination. But I have now been linked to the organization. I'm now under the police's radar. I might be…terminated. I'm a loose end that might prove to be more trouble than worth.

"Yes, well it was with just cause. The officer told you not to move and you attacked him," the cop said bluntly. "Think of the free treatment as a way of apologizing. We didn't know that you were a hostage."

"….I understand," Ja'far nodded.

"Good, so just for curiosity sake, how old are you?" the officer said, walking back over to his seat.

"I'm eighteen," Ja'far said confidently. The cop raised an eyebrow.

"A senior in high school?" the cop asked, a suspicious tone in his voice.

"Junior," Ja'far replied with a slight pause. Looking down at his hospital gown and giving a slight scowl. Hideous.

"Do you go to Brimlock High School?" the police officer leaned forward.

"No. I take online courses and home school myself," Ja'far said with a pause. As if with a practiced ease. The last thing I need is more eyes on me at school, let alone this going down on my record if I want to further my education.

"Online? They have programs like that now?"

"Yes. Regular schooling….was not for me," Ja'far said, his hands twitching. I wish I had a book right now. Something to take my mind off of all this. Ja'far eyes lid in slight annoyance at having to deal with the police man's conversation and not having a single form of descent literature nearby. I wonder if they allow inmates to read in Solitary confinement. Perhaps it is not as torturous as one is lead to believe.

"Ok! One hot cup of black tea! One sugar and no milk!" A happy voice chimed at the door to the room.

Ja'far didn't care to hide the small smile that came to his mouth at the smell of tea. If it could even be called a smile, as it seemed more likely that his scowling face became less frigid and more calm, peaceful even.

"Oh, I'm sorry Officer, do you need the room?" The nurse asked, setting the tea on the side table.

Ja'far reached for the cup quickly, cradling it in his hands and breathing in the small steam it gave off. Drinking a big gulp, his eyes only on the brown liquid. The warmth going down his throat was like aloe on a sunburn. It healed his aching throat in ways no medicine could. Breathing a sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed and his throbbing head settled.

"Yes, I am sorry for the inconvenience, but this is a private conversation," the officer smiled to the young women, raising one eyebrow as he saw Ja'far gulping down the tea. "Hey don't drown over there."

Ja'far looked up from the cup, slowly putting it in his lap with his hands still curled around its warmth. His eyes shining with embarrassment as the adults in the room seemed to be mocking him.

"Of course, Officer. I will be right outside, Honey! If you need anything just tap the button on the bed's handle bars," the nurse bowed and left the room quietly.

"Before we go into detail of your capture, I still do not know your name," the man said with a knowing tone. Ja'far could see that the man was suspicious, but keeping a level head, he knew that suspicion can only go so far. "Please try to keep in mind that we will run the name through our data base, so lying will only lead us to distrust you."

"Ja'far. I have no middle or last name that I know of," Ja'far spoke, his eyes watching the steam coming from his teacup.

"That is all you know? You must have put down some type of last name for your school registry." The officer narrowed his eyes.

"I used the letter J for my last name. All of my legal documents will show the name "Ja'far J." Ja'far felt sweat at the back of his neck. If they look up that name, they will find my school ID. Damn! I will have to go into hiding. This man, why is he so persistent?!

"…I see. Well, with that taken care of lets discuss your capture," the officer wrote down diligently on his note pad.

God I despise this man!

"Where were you when you were captured?"

~PageBreak~

Ja'far gave a silent sigh as he flopped back on the bed. A growl on the tip of his tongue. The officer had just left the room, treating the hour of interrogation as if it were a simple chat over coffee. He had managed to give the man just enough information to keep him satisfied, but not enough to reveal his true nature, at least that is what he hoped. He had been captured on his way to the park around noon for lunch, taking a shortcut through the city. He was grabbed from behind and blindfolded. Shortly after he was locked in the room they found him in, but not before he was told what would be done to him. Summoning some crocodile tears as he told of the horrible words the men had told him.

"I took Karate," Ha. Ja'far thought with a bitter laugh. If being forced into learning hand to hand combat with the intent to slaughter silently counts as Karate. Ja'far turned to the medical machines, his eyes gleaming as he pulled the power cables from the side. The loss in power blackened the screens and thankfully no sound came to alert the nurses. Ja'far pulled the needle from his arm and wrapped his arm quickly with a shred of the sheets he lay on. He thanked the air for the long sleeved gown he was given. He did not want the officer to see the scars he had accumulated over the years from training and various punishments. But, he knew without a doubt that the doctors and most likely the nurses had seen them. They must have given me the long sleeves out of pity.

After concealing his arms with gauze bandages left in his hospital room, the young assassin searched for his clothes, but saw not a single scrap of cloth. I cannot leave in this. I must find something quickly. Quietly the white haired boy opened the door and flickered his gaze around the perimeter, waiting for a moment to slink from the room undetected. Bustling nurses and gurneys flew through the hallways. It seemed an accident had occurred, and that made for the best coverage; confusion and panic. Slipping into the white halls Ja'far walked quietly to an exit. A few nurses turned to his direction, but were called not a moment later to help with the patients.

"All available nurses to the ICU!" a women yelled. Nurses behind her in a second, yelling orders as they went.

"Do not put the gurneys over there! Get them out to the ambulance quickly!" Another yelled, pushing past scurrying interns.

Ja'far ran from the building, his teeth gnawing together when he tripped on one of the steps outside the Hospital and felt a deep pain come from his thigh. Damn. I forgot about the bullet. I should have enough morphine in my system for the next few hours, but I will need some type of pain medication soon. The wound will last for a few weeks, but I cannot wait, I will no doubt be called in a few days. Ja'far took to the side of the building, not wanting to go out the front and be spotted. Creeping around a dumpster, his hands out and ready to take down anyone that could jump out at him. His arms were light…lighter than they had ever been. Ja'far looked down at them. Could it be the morphine? …No…This is different.

My knives! Shit! Where did they take them! Ja'far's green eyes narrowed to silver, its shape close to what could be described as a snakes. Wait, calm yourself. Ja'far relaxed his tense body, taking a deep breath. The hospital would not have them. They would be taken in as evidence by the police. I cannot go barging into a police station. I have lost the knives and will just have to ask for a new weapon. Ja'far thought rationally. But the sting of losing the one possession he actually cared for and kept on his person 24/7. Ja'far hated to admit a weakness, but it is best to acknowledge them. If you know your weak points, you can fix them or at least protect them from being taken advantage of. Ja'far knew he was vulnerable without his weapons. It is true he knows how to disarm and fight off an opponent up to three times his size. But Ja'far was a creature of clean killing. He did not wish to struggle with brute strength, but rather to maneuver his blades, using his mind to calculate strategy.

I do not like being without my blades, but I can make new ones. Ja'far sighed, letting his back hit the brick wall of the hospital's side. Looking back at the bustling Hospital, Ja'far pondered his next move.

I shouldn't run from the hospital. It will just show the police that I am a suspect. As much as I want to leave right now, I should go back in and check myself out. Ja'far grumbled at his rash actions and started to walk back into the hospital. At least my clothes will be returned to me.

Refraining himself from kicking at the ground, Ja'far walked back into the hospital and up to the reception desk. The desk-man seemed reluctant to let him leave, claiming that his wound would need to be rested more. But Ja'far assured him he would stay in bed for the next week. It didn't take too much fighting, seeing as he had no guardians around and he was eighteen. He was given his clothes, but they were stained with blood and ripped in a few places, so they gave him a shirt and pair of pants from the lost and found. Great.

Thankful the police officer didn't see him leave, the white haired boy trudged out of the sterile building and onto the streets. Heading off in the direction of his apartment; taking extra precaution by checking every few minutes for lurking men or police. But after the fourth block, the pain in his leg became more and more prominent, and on the fifth Ja'far was forced to sit on one of the street benches to ward off the pain.

Running a hand through his stark white hair, Ja'far glared at the passing bystanders. His apartment was still three more streets from the bench he sat on, and he didn't know if he could make it down another. It seemed to be an hour or so after noon. The sun was passed the middle of the sky, but not close enough to be near night time. Ja'far let his head fall against the back of the bench.

If I am under the suspicion of the government, this means I am no longer a ghost of the legal system. Of course I did have schooling records, but they were easy enough to manipulate. This is not something that my masters will overlook. I must take into account the possibility of being terminated. Should I take this moment of calm and run for it? How far could I go before I am captured by his men? Ja'far felt another migraine gnawing at his head. His throat ached for another sip of tea. The days I had to read and drink tea might be coming to an end. If I leave and take up a new alias I can get a stable job and perhaps I can live undetected. Ja'far closed his eyes, his mind racing with possible futures. But this would also mean leaving my current profession. Ja'far opened his eyes, his view a cascading portrait of the winding skies, at the thought of no longer being paid to kill and murder. If there had ever been a moment to let true tears fall; it would be now. But none came.

To think a day came where I could alternate my course for a normal life. Ja'far watched the clouds rolling across the sky, squinting at the shine that stung his eyes. No. As much I want to believe, this would not be true. Deviating from Al's Men would only mean becoming a target myself. Arhhh, perhaps the best idea would be to lay low for a while and see what I can find out. Nothing good comes out of jumping to conclusions. I will wait for either instruction or my executioner. Ja'far closed his eyes, his hand massaging the area around his thigh, trying to prepare his mind and body for the walk he was about to take. Huh, I guess the walk home isn't the only one I'm starting now.

"Didn't anyone tell you not to sleep on a public bench?"

Ja'far could feel his throbbing migraine being thrown into the inferno at the sound of the voice. It was only one sentence, but it was enough to make him forget all about his earlier dilemma and focus solely on getting as far away from the speaker as possible.

"I am not sleeping," Ja'far ground out, rising from the bench and starting off in the direction of his apartment, not sparing a glance to the teen.

"Awe, don't be like that! I just wanted to say hello," Sinbad said, walking over and trying to put his arm around the smaller teen's shoulders. Ja'far maneuvered his way around the appendage.

"And now you have said it. Leave."

"Sounds like someone's having a rough day." Sinbad sang.


	4. Talk Over Tea

"..." Ja'far stayed silent, choosing instead to glare at the much too happy teen who seemed to be attached to his hip.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." Sinbad chuckled, following closely, not wanting to loose sight of the gloomy teen. But of course, it was painfully obvious to Sinbad that Ja'far seemed to be completely worn out. It would be quite a feat if he could escape me this time. The smaller male was practically radiating an air of exhaustion and...could it be? Is he...pouting? Sinbad's eyes widened in sheer joy, a goofy smile plastered to his face as he pounced.

"Hey do you want a drink?" Sinbad exclamed in a cheerful voice, his arm now clamped tight around Ja'far's neck. The smaller teen made an 'oof' as his personal space was violated in such a violent manner. His eyebrows screwed together in a clear sign of annoyance, teeth gnawing together, and with the grace of a snake he slithered from the grip once again.

"I do not drink." Ja'far spat, trying to out walk his unwanted company. "And neither should you as it is illegal for anyone under the age of twenty one."

"Awe don't be like that!" Sinbad smoothly appeared at the smaller's side. "Besides, who said anything about alcohol?"

Ja'far felt like seething at the blatant arrogance that the other was spouting. It's as if he has no humility! Ja'far turned his face away and crossed the street, hoping that the move would convince Sinbad that he was not interested what's so ever.

But it seems his bout of bad luck has not ended yet. As the other did not take his hint at wanting separation seriously. And the moment Ja'far was free from the purple-haired teen's side; Sinbad let out a laugh and ran to catchup. Does he think that this is some kind of game?! Ja'far scowled.

"Please refrain from following me." Ja'far said hollowly, hoping to cut off all assumptions then and there, but he was much too tired to stress his distaste. Wither he liked it or not, he was still human, and that meant that his strength ran out by the end of the day. Especially days like this.

"Oh, come now!" Sinbad almost begged. "What's so great that you have to go home right now?"

Ja'far slowed down his walk, almost coming to a stop and looked over his shoulder to see Sinbad eagerly waiting his response.

"Nothing." Ja'far said curtly, turning back and continuing his face-paced walk. But before Ja'far could get very far, a strong grip circled around his middle and yanked him in the opposite direction.

"Then it's decided!" Sinbad took no protests as he pulled the smaller teen down the street. "We have a few hours before night time, so why not enjoy them!" Ja'far's squinted eyes opened wide at the bold move, but for some reason he did not protest. Ja'far reasoned that his sudden willingness was just simply because he was too tired to resist the moron. But he could not deny that a drink did sound nice after the hell he went through today, as long as Sinbad paid the bill.

~PageBreak~

Ja'far was pulled the entire way by his waist, much to his disdain, but he kept silent. Listening as Sinbad rambled on about his favorite places and his various adventures around the town and surrounding places. He found that the enthusiastic teen's company was as despicable as he pictured, in fact he would almost say that he was...enjoying it. It was as if Sinbad was a book on audio, maybe not as sweetly worded, but he had captivated Ja'far's interest.

And with this new thought, Ja'far was able to push aside his usual irritation and loose his worries in the words spoken from an open book.

"We are here." Sinbad jumped ahead and opened the door for Ja'far, smiling as the small teen walked in without a complaint.

A coffee shop? Ja'far raised an eyebrow at the charming atmosphere. It was one of those stores that are trying to make it as relaxing as they can, with couches, candles, wooden tables and large pillows. The smell of the shop was delightful, a warm breath of coffee, muffins and cookies, and the familiar scent of aged paper and bindings.

"So what would you like to drink?" Sinbad pulled him over to one of the tables and watched with eager eyes as the quiet boy sat down. I didn't think he would actually come!

"...tea." Ja'far quietly spoke, lowering his gaze to the wooden design of the table. I cannot believe I agreed to this.

"Okay. Wait right here." Sinbad quickly walked over to the counter.

Ja'far sighed, his eyes moving over to the book shelves on the opposite side of the room. Tea and books...if he wasn't such a dunce I would suspect something. Ja'far gave a small laugh at how perfect the atmosphere was. Running his hand through his stark-white hair, Ja'far tried to expel the hundreds of questions that were beginning to surface. What am I supposed to do now? Should I use this chance to try and disappear? With another long sigh, Ja'far turned to look out the window beside the table. The sun would soon set, the night was fast approaching, he would have to go back to his empty apartment and hope that Al's men have disbanded for good.

"They had a bunch of different flavors, but I didn't know what you liked, so I hope you like Black tea." Sinbad said, walking up to the table with two cups steaming in each of his hands. Ja'far nodded and grasped one of the cups.

Sinbad smiled, settling down in one of the chairs and blowing on his own cup of tea. Looking up he was glad to see the other's stiff shoulders fall at the first sip of his tea. Settling back in his chair, Sinbad looked around the shop, eyeing the large pillows with special glee.

"You know I have always wanted to come in here." Sinbad said. Ja'far looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"You haven't?" Curiosity had always been his Achilles heel. Ja'far was cursed with a more than dangerous amount of wonder and a thirst for stories.

"Yes, it's true. I pass by this place every day on my walk to and from school, but have never gone inside." Sinbad looked around the shop with almost sentimental eyes. Ones that seemed to glow with a wisdom far beyond his years. Ja'far couldn't help but listen.

"Why not?" he asked, for once putting the want to listen to one's conversation before his love of tea.

"Well, for some reason I felt like I was missing something. As if I needed a reason to come in." Sinbad looked back to the pale gray eyes that seemed to be immersed in his voice. "I was waiting for someone."

Ja'far felt his head droop to one side as he tried to understand what he had been told. "And that someone is me?" he said with disbelief.

"It seems so." Sinbad smiled, taking a long sip of his tea. Ja'far rolled his eyes.

"Is that supposed to flatter me?" Ja'far quipped, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice quite clearly.

"Hmm, is it?" Sinbad questioned himself.

"Unfortunately I am not that easy to woo." Ja'far replied, as a matter of fact.

"Who said anything about wooing?" It was now Sinbad's turn to raise an eyebrow.

Ja'far looked up from his tea, a slight blush on his cheeks.

"It was just an expression." Ja'far said, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Sinbad laughed loudly, reaching over while the other was not looking and ruffled his snowy hair. Ja'far flinched at the sudden contact, his head flinging back in fright and smacked the wall behind him. Sinbad's laugh died as he saw the look in Ja'far's eyes.

"..." Sinbad retracted his hand and awkwardly looked away. "I'm sorry."

Ja'far took a deep breath before standing from his chair. "I think it's time I leave."

Sinbad rose from his chair, guilt written all over his face. "Wait, please!" His hand went to stop the smaller, but for some reason he froze. Ja'far walked around Sinbad, keeping his head down, not wanting to see the looks he must be getting from the other occupants in the room, and also to avoid the look he must be getting from Sinbad.

"Excuse me, I should be getting home." Ja'far whispered before walking out of the coffee shop.

Sinbad watched as Ja'far quickly exited the shop with not even a parting glance. With a long sigh, Sinbad sat back down in the chair and pulled out his phone. Guess this means I have to go home now.

~PageBreak~

Ja'far quickly walked back to his apartment, taking steps as long and fast as his feet would allow him, but the walk still took more time than he was hoping. Ja'far wanted to just crawl under his blankets, sleep, and then when morning came, sleep some more. The onslaught of questions and 'what-if's' had carved a hole straight through what was left of his rationality. And even though he wished it were so, tea and reading were not going to fix these problems.

Seeing the worn-down apartment had never brought such joy, then when he saw the ruined paint and old wooden stairs coming into view. Jogging up the stairs and leaning his weight heavily on the door as he pushed his way inside the small apartment, Ja'far's pure white lashes drooped with a sigh. At the first sight of his couch, he wanted nothing more than to just flop down and not think about how in the morning he would be cursing his decisions. After a few seconds of internal battling, Ja'far numbly walked into his bedroom and collapsed on his bed, taking a pause to simply think of nothing before closing his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep.

…School should be interesting tomorrow. Ja'far thought with a bitter note. With 'work' out of the way, it seems my only worry now is my education. …Besides the problem of wither or not Al's men are still thriving. In an attempt to settle his raging mind, the pale teen turned onto his side, but that didn't seem to help much, so he flipped back onto his back. …And what of…what was that guy's name?...Oh, yes it was Sinbad. Ja'far opened his eyes for a moment to look at the cracks in the ceiling.

Somehow I feel he is more than what he lets on.

~PageBreak~

Dark lips quirked into a grin as golden eyes bore into the air above a deep blue bed. The white paint of the ceiling paled in comparison to a certain petite book-lover, but he could not help but see the color and be reminded of the wondrous oddity.

He is certainly an oddity. Sinbad chuckled, his earlier disappointment after tea wiped clean from his mind as he was reminded that he would be seeing the boy tomorrow at school. Another day meant another chance at…what was it he was trying to obtain? Sinbad was not entirely certain of what it was he wanted with the strange teen, but he knew that Ja'far was a puzzling creature that had not only caught his eye, but had vexed him to a point where he desired to hear the boy speak, longed to watch various emotions play by his features, and yearned to hear his name spoken from those all too pale lips. He could dwell on his goals later, and for now just focus on winning the white haired teens favor, or at the very least, his phone number.

"Who are you, Ja'far?"


	5. Bloody Staircase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the "very forward Sinbad", which could be described as dubious consent (PG-13 ish). The mature chapters will be in later chapters when the main romance develops.

A loud vibrating hum cut through the silent room, pulling a reluctant teen from his slumber. With eyes half open, hair tussled in every-which-way and crumpled clothes, Ja'far rolled over in his bed to grab the nuisance. After a quick slam and press of the "off" button, the infernal contraption lied still. Giving a thankful huff, Ja'far flopped back into his perfectly comfortable bed, eyes slipping close for one more minute of satisfying sleep.

It had only been a minute or two, no more, before the sleepy teen felt awake enough to throw the blanket off of his body. Ja'far grumbled as he climbed out of his bed and onto the cold and unforgiving floor. One more glace at his phone, Ja'far's half opened eyes shot open.

"Six forty!" I closed my eyes for a second! How could forty minutes go by so quick! Ja'far growled as he all but ran to his bathroom, ripping the clothes from his tired body before jumping into the shower. Nothing was stranger than morning bathing. He never wanted to get in the shower, but once he did he did not want to leave. The water was warm and inviting, the soap almost tricking him into thinking he could just wipe away his sins, and the steam let him breathe something almost tangible. It was like stepping into another world...

Perhaps I am reading too far into this. It is just falling water. It will not cleanse my "soiled" soul. Ja'far rolled his eyes before walking out of the bathroom, quickly drying off his arms and legs, being especially careful around the stitched bullet hole on his thigh. So far it only felt like a bruise, and it would hopefully heal soon.

Ja'far quietly walked into his small kitchen, grabbing a blue stone teapot and setting it on the stove. Ah, the allure of breakfast tea. A small smile appeared on the stoic boy as he reached in the cupboard for a mug. After heating the water and grabbing twp packets of tea, Ja'far dropped in a teaspoon of sugar and turned the deep brown liquid slowly, finding peace in the simple acts.

He had only a few minutes to himself this morning, but he wasn't complaining. The time was well spent, and it was his own fault for falling asleep after turning off his alarm. Glancing at his phone he saw he had twenty minutes before he had to start walking. Taking a few more sips from the mug, the white haired teen walked back into his room and grabbed for clothes, throwing on a plain gray long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans. Even though his shirt covered his arms Ja'far still wrapped them with gauze, along with his legs, taking care to double the wrapping around his wound.

A part of him wanted to forget school right now. He felt defenseless without his weapons, not to mention the fact that the police now knew his name and face, and to top it off he was badly wounded. It was almost a laughable position considering his once reputable stature. Reputable? Do I truly believe that killing could be described as glorious? Ja'far ran a hand over his face, massaging his forehead for a moment. To think just a few days ago he was accepting missions, murdering, preforming his so called "duty" as an assassin. And now here he was hobbling around like an invalid and whining over life like a child.

If a problem arises, Ja'far will deal with it, somehow. For now it is best to lay-low and keep up the image of a regular teenager. Ja'far chuckled at the almost impossible feat. Him, normal?

So after a quick combing of his snowy hair, Ja'far drank the rest of his tea and walked out of the apartment.

~PageBreak~

"Have a good day at school. Don't do anything illegal!" A voice called from a hazel color door.

"No promises." Sinbad mono-toned, not bothering to turn around to the voice, he kept his face forward as he walked down the street. It was a cold morning, but he was used to it by now. When I graduate, I'm moving far away from this place. Somewhere that's warm all year long. For some reason a picture of Ja'far popped into Sinbad's mind. The small teen covered in sunblock and hiding in the shade, his pale skin too delicate to be exposed to the harsh sunlight. An angry pout on his face as he saw Sinbad's enjoyment.

But as quick as it came, the vision disappeared as a gust of particularly cold wind slapped his tan face. Ah, the bitter sting of reality, just what Sinbad needed before school.

~PageBreak~

Ja'far mumbled a few curses at the students that walked into him in the hallway. They obviously saw him and choose to keep silent after they had rudely bumped into him. Ignorant fools, watch where you are going, or grow a pair and apologize!

Once at his locker, Ja'far tried to relax his tense muscles. But being without his knives had put a toll on him that was to be worse then he had predicted. He could not let his guard down for a moment, constantly flexing his thin muscles, he was slowly producing an exhausted body and a bit of a migraine.

RIINNGG!

He flinched at the sound of the warning bell. Grey eyes nervously watched as the highschoolers walked to their first class of the day. The halls quickly emptied, leaving Ja'far alone, and starring into his locker. He hesitated for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, then grabbed his books and walked to his first class. I have a bad feeling about today. Ja'far pulled open the thick stair doors and slowly ascended the staircase, the thumps of footsteps and echoing laughter was muffled inside the confined area. Ja'far could feel his heart thumping straight into his hands, feet, and face. Halfway to the top of the stairs, Ja'far stopped, there was so much noise coming from behind the door. There was possible a dozen people beyond that door; people who could have found out about the other night. He could be attacked and he had no weapons. Attacked? This is a high school, what am I thinking? I can survive six hours without my knives. Ja'far climbed a few more steps, but came to sudden halt when the slam of lockers rang through the stair case. ...Gunshots? No. No. It is just lockers.

Bang!

Ja'far shuffled over to the side railing and slid to the floor. His books fell from his hands with a flutter and thump, but that noise did not seem to affect him, not anymore. His ears were too busy straining to hear if anyone would break from their current path and open the staircase doors. Sweat began to collect on his brow and with a shaking finger, Ja'far could feel that his pulse was reaching dangerous levels.

He was panicking. His heart was beating too fast. Sweat was collecting everywhere and his skin felt cold. Dead. There was too much air, and yet it seemed like he couldn't get enough.

Ja'far slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stop himself from franticly breathing, but it only seemed to make his condition worse. Now he felt like he was suffocating, and his eyes were bulging from his face, painfully watching both doors to the staircase.

I don't understand! What!? What is going on!? Why can't I breathe!? Ja'far pulled his feet up to his chest, which proved to help in a minuet way. His shaking hands clawed at his bare arms. They were too light weight! He was missing something! He needed it now! He needed his knives!

I need to calm down! Calm down! Ja'far tried to reassure himself to no avail.

Ja'far pushed himself up from the ground and started ripping off the bandages that wrapped around his arms. His teeth grinding together, veins popping under the stress, Ja'far could feel his mind falling into a blank vacuum of nothing. Sharp nails dug into the delicate white skin on the underside of his arm, pulling and sinking into the flesh. A deep red spreading in lines as the pale fingers ripped open old scars. Ja'far could feel his breath slow down at the pain, his vision flashing back as his nails continued pulling the skin from his arms. He didn't know how much he was bleeding until he had finally calmed down, and instantly he was filled with regret.

There was blood everywhere.

A soft squeal came from the bottom of the stairs followed by a hollow thump. It was the door. Someone was walking up the stairs. Someone would see him having a breakdown on the stairs. Someone would see the blood. Ja'far fumbled around for his books, jumping to his feet and ran up the last few steps to the top.

"Oh Go-!"

Ja'far threw all his weight against the door, causing his entire body to skid into the middle of the hallway. Thankfully it seemed to be empty. Ja'far picked himself up off the floor, leaving his books where they lay, and ran to the nearest bathroom.

Running down two hallways, Ja'far slowed down to a small jog as he saw the white doors come into view. Casually pushing open the doors, Ja'far walked over to the sink and crouched down, no feet could be seen. Ja'far fell forward onto the germ infested sink, his wobbling hands barely able to hold his weight. Grey eyes raked up and down the pale arms, observing the scores of scars and open wounds. With a deathly quiet, Ja'far dropped his arms into the sink and turn on the faucet. The cool water felt strange and aggravated his open abrasions, but he did care. In fact he hardly felt anything anymore. His upper thigh and leg throbbed, his bullet wound protesting the violent movement.

Ja'far washed away the blood from his arms, as well as the blood that seemed to have clung to his face and legs. The cold water seemed to have an almost healing affect as he washed his face. Ja'far deftly pulled a few towels from the cheap plastic dispenser and dried off, liking the way it made him feel a little lighter.

There seemed to be a ghost in that mirror.

Even when I rinse away the blood, I can still see it. Ja'far pulled at his stark white hair. It was too white. Why of all the people in the world did he have to be cursed with such pale pigment. It was as if the universe was mocking him. He would never be pure. His world was painted in red.

"Ja'far?" A voice came from directly behind him.

No! Not him! Ja'far whipped around at the voice. His eyes shooting back for a moment to look at the sink; it was stained with red and pink.

"Are you okay?" Sinbad gently closed the bathroom door and took small steps toward the trembling teen. What has you so scared?

"Stay away from me." Ja'far said, his voice betraying nothing of his current mental status.

"But, your arms are bleeding." Sinbad came to a stop just two feet away from Ja'far, eyes soft with worry. Ja'far scowled and his eyes turned sharp.

"There is another bathroom downstairs. Leave." Ja'far turned away from the dark skinned intruder, once again turning on the faucet and started washing away the grim evidence. Sinbad frowned, but walked closer, despite what Ja'far wanted.

"I told you to leave. Stop coming closer." Ja'far looked into the mirror and glowered at Sinbad's reflection.

"You're shaking pretty bad. Did you get in a fight?" Sinbad was inches away, looking down at the hunched over teen. Ja'far pushed Sinbad out of his way and locked himself in one of the stalls.

"Do you want me to call the nurse?" Sinbad said into the stall door, his voice completely serious. Ja'far silently growled at the nuisance.

"I do not need the nurse. Please leave. Class has started." Ja'far seethed. Hiding in a bathroom stall to escape confrontation with a guy who would not leave him alone.

"Have it your way then." Sinbad said with a nonchulant tone. Ja'far raised an eyebrow at the statement. Is he giving up so soon? With a small snort Ja'far turned to look at the wall, waiting from the sound of the restroom door as Sinbad made hi way out. He never expected the annoying brute to climb the door of the stall.

"What are you doing!?" Ja'far yelled as he saw Sinbad's hands grab the top of the bathroom stall as he climbed the door. Ja'far jumped back into the wall as the entire stall started shaking from the weight of the irregularly tall and well-built teenager climbing over its walls.

"Wow that is a farther climb than it looks." Sinbad almost laughed as he dropped into the stall with a loud thump.

"That is because it was not made to be climbed over!" Ja'far shot out like liquid fire. His whole body language radiating killing intent. Sinbad straightened out his posture and watched Ja'far's chest breathing and heaving.

"...Sorry. But you look really...scared and hurt." Sinbad said in a soft tone. "I didn't want to leave you."

Ja'far's growl slowly fell, his breathing soon returning to normal.

"I already assured you that I was perfectly fine." Ja'far straightened himself out as well. "Now would you please leave. I'm sure that you can see this is not a normal thing to do."

"What about this?" Sinabad's hand shot out and went to grab at Ja'far's arm, but it was pulled quickly out of reach.

"That is none of your buisness!" Ja'far growled. "If you won't leave, then I will. Move!"

"Maybe I don't want to." Sinbad took a step forward, pushing Ja'far into the small space between the toilet and the wall.

"Get out of my way!" Ja'far slapped Sinbad with as much force as he could muster, half expecting him to grab the arm before it would make contact. But the slap connected, and it made a harsh sound. Ja'far stopped for a moment, watching how Sinbad seemed to be void of all emotion, as if everything had frozen. But then his head turned to face him once again with a large red mark now burning into his cheek.

Sinbad grabbed Ja'far's wrist before he could pull it away, and yank the arm forward. Ja'far, unprepared, fell into the larger body.

"Hey wha-" Ja'far's eyes flew open.

Sinbad's free hand grabbed onto Ja'far's other arm and pulled him even closer, trapping him against his body. With no way to get away, Sinbad leaned down and stared into the frightened gray eyes.

"What are you doing?!" Ja'far yanked on the arms that pinned him against the bigger chest, but it felt as if he had no strength.

"Can I kiss you?" Sinbad asked, his face an inch away from Ja'far's.

"No! No you can not!" Ja'far growled, struggling against the beastly arms that restricted his movement. "Let me go!"

Sinbad watched the albino struggle for a moment, his arms still holding the smaller teen hostage.

"Why not?" Sinbad asked, pulling his head away for a moment.

"Are you serious?!" Ja'far tried despiratly to pull his arms free, even his legs tried to push and kick his way free. Small streams of blood ran down his arms from the strain.

Sinbad flipped around, Ja'far still tightly held against his chest, and pushed them into the stall's door. Ja'far felt his feet leave the ground. It freighted him to think that some random highschooler could completely overpower him, but right now he was focusing on a more intense feeling. Ja'far had never had anyone try to get close to him in an intimate manor, and never before had he experienced being the recipient of any type of physical attraction.

"Ja'far." Sinbad said in a low tone, his eyes tracing the bleeding scars that littered pale arms.

Gray eyes fluttered up at the voice. I don't know what to do. Ja'far looked down at the tanned hands wrapped around in wrists. He tried to duck down and bite at the hands, but Sinbad just pushed him harder into the door.

"Let me go!" Ja'far seethed, his eyes finally showing his true fright.

Sinbad pushed his lips onto Ja'far's with his chest flush against the albino. Ja'far turned his head back and forth, despirate to disconnect his lips. Sinbad ignored this and continued to push himself onto Ja'far, moving his lips and sucking on the pick ones beneath his.

Ja'far bit down with all his might.

"Oww!" Sinbad whined, pulling his head away. "I was hopping for a better reaction."


	6. Once an Assassin

A better reaction?! Ja'far seethed at the comment. Taking advantage of the taller teen's confusion, Ja'far pulled his head back as far as he could before throwing it froward, causing a sickening "thwack" as is connected to Sinbad's forehead. The purple haired teen groaned at the strike, letting one hand off of Ja'far's wrist in order to hold onto his head. The pain causing him to stumble and take a small step back.

"Ahh, man that hurt." Sinbad laughed, looking up to see Ja'far huffing, his now free arm grasping hold of his trapped wrist.

"Did you expect me to just stand there and let you do whatever you wanted?! Honestly, do I look like I am so weak minded?!" Ja'far shot out venomously, the veins in his eyes popping out a beat red, his face a second sheet of white.

"Maybe not your mind, but it seems to me that your body isn't doing so well right now." Sinbad rubbed at his forehead, his voice muffled as he tried to dull the pain in his mouth, but his eyes were focused on the shacking boy in front of him. Ja'far glared at the piercing golden eyes, scoffing at the so called "concern".

Ja'far ripped his hands away from Sinbad, quickly turning the lock on the stall door and pushing it open and walked out of the stall. Sinbad mentally kicked himself as he watched the other teen walk away.

Ah, man I'm an idiot! Sinbad breathed a sigh through his nose before exiting the stall himself. Surprised to see that Ja'far had not left the bathroom, and was instead staring at his reflection in the sink mirror.

"Are you s-" Sinbad tried to get out before Ja'far quickly replied.

"If you finish that sentence I will not hesitate to bash your brains into the floor. Now I will say it one last time. Leave this bathroom." Ja'far huffed at the giant brute, anger rolling off his shoulders as he saw Sinbad turn to leave.

"I'm sorry." Sinbad said quietly before walking out of the bathroom, the door slamming shut, its echoes a painful reminder to the pale teen that he was alone; in every sense of the word.

Ja'far took a deep breath, watching as the pale figure in the mirror shook, his eyes bloodshot, and a cold air swept through his arms and legs.

I do not have my knives, but I am still strong without them. I am perfectly capable of surviving until I can get a replacement. Ja'far ran his hands through his hair for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, and it wasn't even noon yet. The pale assassin gripped the left handle on the sink and started filling the basin with hot water. Ja'far watched with steady eyes as the water flowed from the faucet and filled the porcelain sink, making a steaming pool of tap water. Grabbing a few more towels, Ja'far dunked them in the water and started washing his arms again, moving to his legs and back, shoulders and neck, and finally his face. If there was one thing that Ja'far enjoyed as much as reading and drinking tea, it was a warn shower. Too bad he was stuck in a boy's bathroom, otherwise he might have enjoyed wiping away the sweat and blood.

What should I do now? Ja'far sighed as he slumped up against the wall and slid all the way to the floor. For once in his life Ja'far wished that he had someone that could take charge and tell him what he should do next.

After a few minutes of silently questioning his future, Ja'far got up off the floor and decided to go back to class. Even if his mind was someplace else, he could still sit in the room and pretend he was paying attention. Maybe he would get lucky and could read his book while the teacher wasn't looking.

So with that in mind, Ja'far walked down the hallway and collected his notebooks that he threw away in his haste. As he reached down to grab the books, the bandage on his left arm unraveled, but luckily no one was around to see before Ja'far could wrap his arm again. Picking up his things, the pale teen walked off to his current class.

Online education is becoming more and more appealing.

~PageBreak~

Sinbad resisted the urge to punch his locker, his hands gripping and ungripping on his shoulder bag strap. He had just forced himself onto another boy! And what is worse? Said boy rejected him, clearly extinguishing any hopes that he had of getting closer to him. What was he supposed to do now? He could no longer just ignore Ja'far, and he made it pretty clear that he wanted nothing to do with him. Should he just back off? Sinbad opened his locker with a quick jerk, grabbing his things and slamming it shut once again. I have to at least apologize better.

Sinbad wiped a hand down his face, pausing for a moment over his eyes, enjoying the little darkness he was gifted with. He didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't much of a day lover. He preferred the night time sky, the stars, and the cool winds. And with not many people roaming about in the night, it was quiet and peaceful, intimate even.

Better get to class before they mark me absent. Sinbad grumbled his way down the hallway, glaring at the walls as he passed. A sore cheek, throbbing tongue, and pounding headache put to the side as he focused on nursing his bruised pride.

~PageBreak~

After grabbing his discarded things and retrieving a book from his locker, Ja'far found himself face to face with his third period teacher.

"¿Quieres explicarme por qué llegas tarde?" The harsh tone that she used was in no way rhythmic. Ja'far looked away, not wanting to look into her eyes for too long, they reminded him of his coworkers, and that was something he did not want to be reminded of at the moment.

"I was in-" Ja'far started, but was instantly cut off as the angered Spanish teacher slapped her hand down on her desk.

"En Español." She demanded, her deep brown eyes waiting. Ja'far had to close his eyes to resist rolling them.

"Yo en...el baño." Ja'far said, walking to his desk after receiving a nod. The students in the room watched as the teacher scribbled down a note before returning to the board and continuing the lesson.

"Ahora que parece que todo el mundo está aquí, podemos empezar."

Ja'far quietly pulled out the book he had been concealing beneath his folders and turned to the page he was on last. He let his fingers slide down the page, feeling the pressed paper and slight bumps made by the inked lettering. A content air formed around him, like a bubble, protecting his mind from the recent stress that has ripped a whole in his life. The smell was intoxicating, old yet new, and a mixture of ink and dry paper.

Suddenly Ja'far could see himself, middle aged, sitting on a plush blue couch, drinking a cup of tea and reading a book. He did not have to go to work, he did not have to worry about anything, he could just sit and read and drink tea. This was the closet thing Ja'far had to a dream or a goal.

Flipping a page with a slow flick of his wrist, Ja'far took the small second of pause to crack his neck, a popping sound that made the students around his desk flinch with disgust.

A small shine flashed across Ja'far's right eye, like a needle sailing through the air, his bubble was officially burst. With venom oozing from his pores, the white haired teen turned his head to see what it was that blinded him moments ago.

Golden hooped earrings had caught the light from the window as their owner brushed back a piece of hair that had managed to fall out of his pony tail. Ja'far went to turn back around, to try and ignore the fact that his heart had just about jumped out of his chest, but he was stopped as a pair of equally gold eyes turned toward him.

Ja'far wanted to turn away, to ignore the other teen and go back to his book, but he didn't. Ja'far was caught in the light and the glimmer of golden eyes. Ja'far blinked, his attention switching to the red cheek Sinbad was sporting, no doubt a product of his slap, and a small brown shadow casting in the middle of his forehead, most likely caused by the headbutt. The young assassin felt no regret for the abrasions, in fact he was proud. But the light in those golden eyes had not dimmed, even after the sun was blocked by the shifting clouds, they glowed brighter.

Ja'far frowned at the obvious signs of a recovered ego. Damn guy doesn't know when to quit.

~PageBreak~

Sinbad raised an eyebrow as he watched Ja'far staring at him. Spanish had never been his favorite class, he was more of a History lover. The memorization of battles and geography, dates of wins and losses, it was simple. The only thing he lacked was the drive to write essays and take tests, they just seem so unimportant.

So after trudging into Spanish class, meeting a thoroughly disgruntled teacher, he was ready to just sleep on his desk and pretend he was looking at his notes. But not even five minutes later did Ja'far walk in, catching the attention of the entire room. His face didn't seem to be as red as it was before, his arms covered in the same white bandages as this morning, but his usually stoic face was clearly annoyed. Is he pouting?

Ja'far managed to escape the wrath of the teacher with a bored face, and slumped into his seat as silent as the dead. Sinbad turned back to his notes, not wanting to meet eyes with the teen just yet.

Damn light! Sinbad squinted in an attempt to block out the heated beams that were cutting into his vision. But in this he caused a few strands of his hair to break out of his pony tail. With a grunt he went to push them back.

Wait, is he looking at me? Sinbad turned and saw that, yes, Ja'far was staring at him. Haunted gray eyes smoothing over his face. He seemed slightly relaxed, a book under his hands, blinking at regular intervals. He seems so...content? Sinbad held in a laugh as he watched the other watching him.

I think I still have a chance. Sinbad smirked, inwardly laughing as the pale teen frowned and turned away.

~PageBreak~

"Hey wait! Wait!" Sinbad laughed, running up to a fast walking Ja'far. Obviously trying to ignore the purple haired teen.

"And here I thought that I made it perfectly clear that I wanted nothing to do with you." Ja'far spoke evenly, looking both ways before crossing the street. Knowing first hand how chaotic the streets can get after school has ended for the day.

"Well, um yeah, I am really sorry about this morning, I was way outta line." Sinbad coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the sting of embarrassment.

Ja'far turned his head away, a small blush on his face as he remembered the kiss. With a shake of his head, and a readjusting the bag on his shoulder, the assassin turned back to face Sinbad.

"Being 'out of line' is an understatement." Ja'far glared. "You followed me into the bathroom when I told you repeatedly not too."

"Well, the bathroom is made for all students" Sinbad quipped.

"You climbed over the door into the stall I was occupying and proceeded to invade my privacy by blocking exit!" Ja'far spoke with a higher volume, catching himself as he saw a few pedestrians looking there way.

"I was trying to help and you were shutting me out." Sinbad said, a small frown on his face as the other's anger continued to rise.

"And I told you that I did not want your help!" Ja'far huffed out angrily. "You cannot just do as you wish or when you deem fit!" Ja'far stopped in his hurried walking and turned to face Sinbad, who seemed surprised by the sudden change.

"Well, I-" Sinbad tried to get out before Ja'far slammed his finger into his chest.

"And you have absolutely no right to kiss me!" Ja'far jabbed his finger repeatedly into Sinbad's chest, feel slightly better with each poke.

"I know." Sinbad said, his eyes boring into Ja'far's shocked orbs.

Ja'far sighed, turning once again from the purple haired teen.

"Don't follow me." And with that Ja'far was gone.

~PageBreak~

Buzzzzz

Ja'far had just turned the corner, leaving a confused Sinbad to walk home alone, when he stopped in his tracks. Sweat manifesting out of nowhere. His chest suddenly hundreds of pounds heavier and his breath labored.

With a eerily practiced hand he pulled his phone from his pants pocket.

"You have a new target, Assassin."


	7. Unfolding

Ja'far could not move, his entire body paralyzed by the severity of the voice cutting through the speakers of his phone. He felt a cold breeze over his mind, numbing his actions and forcing out the only phrase he could muster.

"Location?" Ja'far curtly asked, his voice as dead as his limbs.

A short pause was his answer, as if the voice was wary of revealing the new hide out. Ja'far held his breath, his chest tight to the point where his connection to the world seemed to be unimaginably unimportant.

"119th...23rd building..." And the line was dead.

Ja'far closed his phone and robotically tucked it away into his pocket, never once disconnecting his unseeing eyes from their current position. The wind was soft, caressing his cold, unmoving skin. A flash of envy coursed through Ja'far at the feeling. The wind did not stop to ask for directions, and there was no for it to. It had no destination, except to wonder the world.

Never had a street seemed so empty. Scores of students and pedestrians walking by, crossing the street with small jogs and hand waves, conversing with friends, and headphones dangling from tight ears. And yet with a simple phone call, these people had never seemed more dead. To think it could be so easy to lose all humanity in his eyes. He was truly alone once again.

~PageBreak~

"Sinbad, you're home early." A surprised voice came from another room as Sinbad entered his home. With a small smile, the dejected teen walked past the source of the voice and started for the stairs to his bedroom.

"Yeah. Decided to do some studying. Big History test tomorrow, you know?" Leaping up the first few steps, Sinbad climbed the stairs as fast as he could without alerting any suspicion.

"A History test this early in the year?" The voice asked, rising from his chair and walking to look up the stairs.

"Yeah, Junior year is some tough shit, Dad." Sinbad laughed, reaching his door and quickly throwing himself inside and shutting it behind him.

"Hey watch your language!" The man gave a deep huff for a laugh, running a hand through his hair before walking back to his chair and pulling out a newspaper from under the coffee table. "Do you want to ask about how my day was?" He called, not moving from his chair and opening to the first page to see the face of the newest criminal.

"Not really." Came the distant voice of Sinbad, who was trying to ignore the question.

"I had a really interesting week in fact, are you sure you aren't interested?" His father smirked, thinking of how to phrase it so that his son will open his door and talk to him.

"Sorry dad I really have to study, you know, to get scholarships." Sinbad rolled his eyes, pulling out his history book and a pair of headphones.

"Okay, I get it." Sinbad's father gave a long yawn. "Teenagers these days. I had a kid in a day ago, strange kid I'll tell ya. Supposedly a trauma victim, but the next day he was fine, cleared all the mental tests and checked out of the hospital by himself."

Sinbad paused in jamming the headphones in his ear, his eyes turning to look at his bedroom door.

"He said he was home schooled, but when I ran his name, he was registered in a public school." The man smirked at the sound of his son's door slowly opening.

"What school does the kid go to?" Sinbad called from his door way, staring into the back of his father who seemed to be innocently reading the paper.

"Oh, well you know I can't reveal information in my cases, Sinbad. And you have studying to do, afterall." The middle aged man turned the page, never moving his eyes from the words.

"Dad." Sinbad rolled his eyes with a laugh, opening up his door all the way and walking down the stairs.

"No, no, you were right. I shouldn't have said anything." The man pulled the newspaper closer to cover his face, trying to hide his smile.

"Dad."

"Okay, Okay." The man laughed, throwing down the paper and turning to look at the purple haired teenager. "So a boy, says he's eighteen, is found in the den of a known group of hitmen. He takes down at least ten officers, physically maiming five of them, but pleads that he was acting in self defense and was a victim being stashed in the building."

Sinbad eyebrows narrow, his eyes darting at all the information he was given.

"He gave no indication of being a victim until he was already caught." The man smirked as Sinbad seemed to be engrossed in the case.

"And when I ran his name, the only thing that came up was his school records. It's like he never existed before he showed up for school a couple of days ago."

"So he's a ghost." Sinbad walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling out some paper to write down the known.

"Pretty much. Kid looked like a ghost too, pretty freaky if you ask me." The man laughed.

"Like a ghost?" Sinbad looked up from his notes.

"Yeah, white hair, pale skin, jeeze he looked like death himself."

Sinbad's pencil hit the table.

"What school did he have on his records." Sinbad's breath was heavy in his chest.

Sinbad's father raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied atmosphere.

"I was hoping that you would ask." The man pulled out a paper from his back pant pocket and handed it to his son. "How would you feel about helping out your old man with a case? I know you are interested in joining the police force someday."

Sinbad grabbed the paper, its weight most likely barely that of a feather, but it seemed to have a gravity of its own.

Unfolding the paper, Sinbad was greeted by one of the most unfriendly, and horribly familiar, of gazes.

Ja'far...what have you gotten yourself into.


	8. Nighttime Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, but important chapter.

With a flick of the wrist a life can be taken, he knew this well. Escaping had barely been a concept in his mind and yet already he was tasting the bitter aftertaste of a dream burnt before his eyes. The ashes drowned and buried beneath a pool of thick black blood. The common sight of a fresh kill, which would usually cause a slight numbing effect, was rattling his bones. He had been so close to leaving this life behind and becoming something worth living for. Now here he was once again knee deep in death and wishing for another chance.

Damn. Ja'far gritted his teeth as his arms twisted around the corpse's shoulders and lifted up its front. The weight was difficult to maneuver, especially while catering to his wounded leg, but he was still able to hide the body and prep for the cleaners.

Buzz. Buzz. Green eyes flickered at the sound of the vibrations coming from his phone. Another target? Click.

"I'm glad to see that you are still loyal, Assassin," slithered from the slotted holes from the metal device. Ja'far whipped his head up at the unregistered voice. "And here I was worrying that you had lost your nerve." Ja'far swallowed the spit suddenly clogging his throat, pivoted on his heels and ran to the closest doorway to cover his figure from the windows.

"Trust, once lost, cannot be found again. Keep no family or friend. Disloyalty is an honor less end," Ja'far recited, his tone eerily even so as to not upset the man on the other side of the phone.

"Good. I do not understand why you are enrolled in a school, this is your future," the man chuckled.

Ja'far's eyes widened, his mouth slightly a jar as he listened. It is him, but why?! He flipped his body into the bathroom and shut the door, grabbing the golden nob and twisting the lock. Snow touched fingers moved to retract his knives, but stopped after feeling the fabric of his sleeves. Damn! When I need them most! Ja'far growled to himself and readjusted his grip on the kitchen knife he had used to slice the throat of his latest target. It may not be the weapon he favored, but it could save his life, need be.

"I keep a close eye on all of my employees, you are no different, do not be so surprised. I am merely calling to see how many of my children are still alive…and loyal," the man continued, who Ja'far was now positive was the infamous Al. The man who had brought him into this organization and who would ultimately take him out of it. Is this the end? Ja'far spat in his head. This is my life? This is what I clung to desperately?! A free hand slipped into white hair, gripping tightly and pulling out a few strands in frustration.

"I do not care that you enrolled in some high school. Go ahead, see what it gets you," the voice quipped. "What I care about is what you said while strapped to a hospital bed and behind closed doors."

Ja'far stilled, holding his breath. "I claimed to be a victim. I did not reveal any information, I assure you," he breathed.

"I believe you."

Ja'far let all the air leave his lungs as he slid to the ground, relieved that he did not have to prove his story to the homicidal man.

"But I have to make sure."

Bang! Ja'far shot up from his place on the tiled floor, his heart in his stomach. No. He could hear footsteps just outside the bathroom door. Ja'far dropped the phone and backed up farther into the room, holding up his bloodied knife. The golden lock shook under the strain of a powerful hand, the nob barely holding in the painted wood. The pale teenager watched the door as he knelt down and rummaged through the cabinet beneath the sink. Looking for anything he can use against the men that would soon break through the door. Three bottles of cleaning sprays, a sponge, toilet paper, and a can of hairspray came into view. Ja'far grabbed one of the cleaning liquids and read the label to see if it had bleach, but it was taking too long to find and he threw it away. Damn, damn, damn! Why the Hell doesn't this guy keep anything useful under here!?

The lock fell to the ground with a metallic clunk, knob and all. Ja'far grabbed the hairspray can and pulled off the lid as the door creaked open. He held his knife high in front of him, keeping the spray out of sight and crouched low. Ready to fight off an attack, if it came to it. Never thought I would end up here of all places.

Standing in the doorway were two figures clad in all black, the only visible human features were the cold eyes glaring down at him.

"Stand down, Assassin," one of the figures hissed, the other pulled out a long machete in warning.

Ja'far bit down harshly on his tongue as he weighed his options. This could be the last time he would be able to think and breath and cling to life; he could die in the next few seconds. He could also drop his weapons, surrender, and die a quicker more honorable death. None of the options are appealing.

From its place on the floor, the phone buzzed into life once more.

"Resisting will not prove well for your story," the phone hummed in static before disconnecting.

Ja'far felt his shoulders sagging in the thick atmosphere, his knees hitting the floor as the metal can and knife clang on the tile. His breathing was heavy as he felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. The air swept away and he was left to watch the bubbles of his strength float away.

The darkly clothed men walked over to the hunched over teen and pulled him up by each arm. It was against his nature to allow anyone to man handle him, but this was not his place to assert anything, least of all when acting on the orders of his masters.

The taller of the two pulled out a white cloth and briskly placed it on Ja'far's face, covering the mouth and nose. His hair was roughly pulled back with his neck yanked into an awkward angle that caused him to grunt at the force. This is it. I'm going to die. Ja'far narrowed his eyes as the image of the two men above him became out of focus and blurry. Despite the anger he felt rising in his chest as his mind was blanking, he could not resist the shake that shot through his body. He was scared, scared of death and what he would wake up to see. In the last gleams of light, a shine of gold played across his mind. Perhaps it was the door knob, or maybe it was more important. You just show up everywhere huh? Haha.

It was dark.


	9. Allegiance Assured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: chapter contains graphic torture.

The air was stale and reeked of a moist metallic odor, as if the air had been washed with blood and left to sit for months to dry. Peeling open his reluctant eyes, Ja'far waited for the blur to settle before looking around, hoping that his nose was playing tricks on him. To be unfocused and vulnerable in a room that smelled of death was unnerving, even to a trained professional.

Memories from the moment he was knocked out resurfaced as Ja'far blinked up at the now stationary ceiling. Its metal bindings covered in rust and rot, not to mention spider webs and dirt. He was not able to move his head, not a good sign, and when putting in the fact that he had been knocked out, this was possible the worst outcome he could think of. To be trapped and immobile in what felt like the basement of a serial killer, could only mean one thing. For once in my life let me be wrong.

Footsteps crawled from outside his vision, clawing closer to his body. A distant voice sprung from at least ten or so feet away.

"Is he awake?"

"Yes it seems so."

"Good, put on the lights," a shadow spoke, causing a movement and a hurried clapping noise. In seconds a row of artificial lights that were bolted to the ceiling flickered to life, casting a dinged yellow glare to filter around the room.

"You look calm that is good. It is what I expect of one of my men," a burly man pulled himself from the corner and walked directly in front of the table that held a groggy teenager down.

Ja'far kept his gaze on the man, his eyes taking in the rough features of his face. He looked to be about six feet tall and decently clad with weapons, his face contorted in numerous scars, a man to fear. But Ja'far had seen men like this before; they never amounted to much and were cast out sooner or later. An assassin doesn't want a large frame or huge muscles; it's too flashy, too easily notable.

"Do you not recognize me, boy?" the man sneered, spit flying from his chapped lips and onto his shirt. Ja'far waited, but was met with only silence. I would have remembered this idiot.

"No," He mumbled, his tongue feeling like a foreign entity resting between his teeth.

"Well it has been twelve years, I guess I cannot be surprised," shoes clapped against the floor in a deliberate fashion, a form of weak intimidation. The man slunk his muscled torso to stand just a few inches away from his right side, peering close to his head. "I was the one who found you all those years ago."

Ja'far pulled open his eyes, pain cracking his skull and shooting down his spine, he tried to pull up his hand or leg. Him!? It can't be!

"You!" He screamed, drool falling from his nerve damaged mouth.

"Ah, now that's better. Yes, yes it is me," the snake slithered back to his spot in front of Ja'far and nodded to another man in the room. The cloaked figure nodded and rose up to the left side of the teenager's clothed body.

"Now, let's get down to business shall we? You have been seen exiting a public school and then later walking into our Home base, strangely enough on the same night that an army of police come knocking on our door," the man breathed, twisting his head to the side in mock ignorance. "Strange isn't it? That the police then take you to the hospital for your wounds and later let you go. While so many of my men were shot down in cold blood. Or how at least eleven of them are now behind bars!?"

Ja'far felt his lungs filling with air, suffocating him as his mind screamed at the man. The man who made him kill his parents. The reason he had been stolen from a normal life and forced into the dark. They think I did this?! Oh fuck no! They're going to kill me because I lived?!

"Please. Tell me why I should not kill you?" the man growled, his fist slamming down on the table, a few inches from his leg. Ja'far turned his head to the killer and let go of the air he had stored.

"I did not tell the cops anything. They attacked me and I…played innocent…I didn't…give away any information," Ja'far breathed out in complete seriousness.

"Now, if we were just regular people, maybe I would believe that. But how can I trust a boy trained to lie and deceive. You will have to do better than that."

What?! What more can I-

"What more can I do?" Ja'far asked, his eyes studying the multiple men in the room, at least five including Al.

"I'm glad you asked, because this is my favorite part," Al walked from his place over to the side of the room, out of Ja'far's field of vision, grabbing one of the gleaming metal objects laid out. He slowly walked back to the grey haired teen and hovered over his legs. His blackened fingers pulled down his pants and threw them to the floor, holding up a large knife to show the boy before he plunged it into his right thigh.

"Ahhhh!" Ja'far cried out, his legs desperately trying to pull away from the knife. The pain was a combination of a bullet and a flame thrower, the searing pain and the agony that flew up his limbs.

"Did you say anything to the police?!" the man yelled, veins popping up along his forehead as he ripped the knife out of Ja'far's leg.

Ja'far felt his chest arch and twist in the pain, but he held back any tears, instead letting his pain flow out of his screams.

"No!" he yelled, biting down on his teeth "No!" It hurts. It hurts. God make it stop!

The dagger was brought up into the air once again, dropping down and carving its way through his café.

"Ahhhhhhh! Ah! Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Ja'far could not hold back his tears as they flew from his cheeks, his head whipping side to side on the metal table. The restraints on his wrists and ankles were pulled taunt, the cuffs slowly rubbing away skin and creating thin lines of blood.

"I don't like your answer!" the man grabbed at Ja'fars neck and strangled him, throwing the knife to the ground. "What did you tell them! What do they know!"

Ja'far gurgled but was unable to talk, his hands yanking on the cuffs to somehow pry this man off his neck.

"You! Continue while I ask the questions," Al pointed to one of the other men in the room, who walked over to the weapons table and picked up another metal device and calmly walked over to the left side of Ja'far. Al slowly released his hands, moving them out of the way as the boy coughed and choked, his mouth still letting out small noises of pain from his legs.

"How did the police know where we were?" the man screamed again into his ears.

"…ah….ahh….I don't know!" Ja'far said, trying to control his screaming. Al looked over to the man and nodded, pulling back what looked to be a throwing knife and sunk it into his left thigh multiple times. Ja'far pulled his head back, crying out at not being able to move his legs away from the knife as it continued to plunge into his leg.

"Noooooo! Ahhhhhh! Stop! I don't Knooooooooow!" he screamed, biting at the sides of his cheek, the blood dripping down into his throat and on the table as well.

"More!" the killer yelled, ripping off Ja'far's shirt and slicing thin lines over his chest and stomach. This caught the boy off guard and forced vomit from his mouth, the bile streaming off the table to mix with his blood. His skin was on fire and he couldn't move, he was stuck to be engulfed in the flames of pain and drowned in blood and vomit.

For another hour he endured being stabbed and cut into, all the while loudly proclaiming his loyalty to Al's Men and Al himself.

"Stitch him back up, before he dies."

Ja'far numbly watched the men leave, a single cloaked shadow left behind to stitch his wounds and stop him from bleeding out. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, his eyes dully staring ahead as the first needle plucked through his skin.

"I will believe you for now, Assassin, but you will not get this chance again," Al stated from his place in the doorway. "After the loss we had from the damned police, I had to accept an offer. I need as many as my men as I can get now, including you. We are now partnered with a group called Sham Lash. Congratulations boy, you are the first one I am sending over."


	10. Unraveling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: depression will be a major theme from this chapter on.

"Ja'far….Ja'far?" a chipper voice clicked, scuffed loafers clacking back and forth as a man sauntered left and right in front of the classroom.

"He's not here again, Teach," a boy yawned, stretching his elbows dangerously close to the occupant stationed just behind him.

"Right. Okay then…Jones?" the man mumbled, scratching at the scruffy hairs left on his face after a quick shave.

Sinbad sunk lower into his seat, glancing from the door to the empty seat back in the corner. He drowned out the tired voices of his teacher and other classmates as he envisioned a disgruntled white haired teen flicking at the corner of his notebook and glancing every few minutes at the clock. His feet kicking every once in a while to relieve the boredom, Sinbad slowly eased his head into his arms and chuckled at the memories of the first time he saw Ja'far, being called out for reading in class. He has never ceased being an anomaly. Even now…where did you go?

It had been three days since he last saw the silvery glare of the other or heard his voice. As the days continued his worry was growing more and darker. From what his father had told him about the killers his department had unearthed and the case of the mysterious victim, Sinbad could not stop himself from getting involved. But after seeing the photograph of the person of interest, he was having second thoughts. More than just second thoughts, he was having thoughts of treason. If his father was right then Ja'far was somehow linked to a band of criminals and possibly has had firsthand experience with them. As much as he did not want to believe that the quiet boy was part of an illegal and immoral group, his father was not usually wrong. And he could not recall at any point that Ja'far seemed to be a normal, but that was what he liked most about the other. He was different.

"Sinbad?" the teacher called.

"Here," he called back, his eyes still locked on the lonely chair.

"Yes you are, now turn forward," the man scoffed, flipping open a notebook and picking up a whiteboard marker. The class laughed, but Sinbad didn't care. He was lost in the empty space.

Where did you run off to, Ja'far?

~PageBreak~

Sinbad had spent the day checking bathrooms and hallways, classrooms and closets to find any scrap of notification that the bandaged teen had passed through. But as the day came to an end he had accumulated nothing.

Most of his classes he had sat perched and hopeful that the boy would burst through the door and call out to the teacher in apology. But after the sixth class, his hope was waning for the day. Yet another day without any sign of Ja'far. He had thought of going to his father and telling him of the disappearance, but he was afraid that would start a chain reaction that would cause more harm to the teen. If it was discovered that he had fled the area after being suspected of such a serious offence, it would spell disaster. Sinbad knew as it was the positive outcomes for Ja'far were slim, but he did not want to be the reason they would be burned to ash. He was a man of hope and optimism by nature. But it had already been a week. Things are not looking good. Maybe telling the police is a better option. If Ja'far has been kidnapped or…hurt, I'm the main barrier in the police's way of finding out.

"Sin."

But if he is just sick at home or skipping school…I could be the reason he is taken into custody and put on trial for the suspicion of hiding from authorities

"Sin."

What if he is on the run from these guys and I alert them to his whereabouts…I don't know whose on the inside and who can be trusted. I could potentially be deciding his fate.

"Sin," a voice rang in his ear, a hand followed close with a slap to his arm.

"Ah! Geez! Masrur you nearly gave me a heart attack. Next time cough or something to tell me your there," Sinbad chuckled, turning to face the red headed boy.

"…Right," Masrur did not question the other and simply stood by his side after seeing him rushing out the doors.

"So have you seen Ja'far around lately? You know that tiny kid with the bleached hair. Like outside of school or anything," Sinbad asked in a false sense of commonality. Masrur was shocked by the question but tried to answer it as best as he could.

"No."

"Damn…okay. Sorry for the strange question, I had to ask," Sinbad rubbed at the back of his neck before cracking it to the left and right. "You want to get something to eat?"

"…"

"Alright! Let's go!" Sinbad exclaimed, throwing his fists into the air and pulling the muscular teen with him down the street.

~PageBreak~

"You're late, again," a gruff voice broke through the dark shadows of the room. Sinbad winced at the tone and slunk further into the house, creeping past his father and closer to the stairs.

"Sorry I lost track of time, but I'm not that late this time," Sinbad replied casually, his golden eyes grey in the darkness.

"You expect me to believe that?" his father asked, not yet leaving his position stationed against the counter.

"No, but you might accept it," the teen said seriously.

"Watch your mouth. You may be eighteen now but you are still my son and you will show me that respect," he challenged, flicking on the lights and calling Sinbad to come back into the kitchen.

"Fine," Sinbad sighed, walking back and leaning on the counter in front of the man.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

"What? No," Sinbad said, his eyebrows pulling together at the disbelief written all over the scruff of his fathers' face.

"You have never been late these man days in a row," his angered face calmed and a hand swept over his jaw. "Is it because of that kid? Is it too much? Is he threatening you?"

"Dad, woah, slow down I'm fine," Sinbad raised his hands. "I was out with Masrur and I just forgot to check the time."

"You've been out with Masrur every day this week?" he pointed out.

"Well no-but I'm not over my head or anything," he countered.

"So it has nothing to do with that freaky kid?" he snorted, his hands straight by his side. Sinbad looked away for a moment.

"I didn't say that," Sinbad said, staring at the pupils set before him, dark like a void. Could he trust his own father? Can I risk this much for some guy I just met? Flashes of angry eyes and blood, bandages and bathroom stalls flitted around his mind. Why are you so important to me?

"So it is," the man seemed confident.

"It is not anything I can't handle," Sinbad reassured.

"Is it now? How can I be sure? If what I think is true, then this is a very dangerous case. Now I told you to keep an eye on him at school, a safe environment, not to tail him around the city at night!" his father yelled. Sinbad took a step back, but held his ground.

"I'm not some stupid kid; I know what I'm doing!" Sinbad raised his voice but held back from yelling.

"These are killers, Sinbad. Trained murders that are not going to let some teenager follow them around the city! You may think you are an adult who knows how to protect himself, but you're not. You are a kid who has been given too much information," he lowered his voice but the bite was still venomous. "I don't want you investigating this anymore. I never should have told you, this is not what you should be thinking about right now."

"What are you saying? That I'm not incapable of helping! How can you say that?" Sinbad said with wide eyes.

"You should be focusing on school and grades and college, not this," he sighed, watching as Sinbad was gaping at him, with hands gripping by his side.

"You can't trust me?" Sinbad asked.

"It's not like that. I just want you to be safe," the man clasped a hand on Sinbad's shoulder. "We're all the family we've got." Sin looked up at his father.

"There's something else that you're not telling me," he challenged.

"…" the officer was silent.

"Did something new come up? Why are you hiding it?" Sinbad stared down the tired man before him. Scared shoulders sagged and an aged body fell against the granite counter top.

"I does not matter because you are not going to be worry about it anymore."

"You know that won't stop me," Sinbad stood tall in front of his father, acting as an equal was how they had become so close. The man sighed, rolling his neck and shoulders before looking back at his son.

"You realize that by telling you, I am breaking multiple codes of classification," the man closed his eyes.

"Never stopped you before," Sinbad smirked.

"Alright, but on a few conditions," the man rose from his slumped position. "No more late nights and you cannot investigate anywhere outside of the school."

"Deal." Well…maybe.

"Alright. Earlier today we got an anonymous phone call about a body found in an apartment building. Our team investigated it; I was not on the scene though. But I got a call two hours later saying that the body found was connected to the hitmen case I have been on. I drive there and am briefed that the forensics team have put together a theory I would want to hear," the man was serious, steely eyes looking into the space before him. Sinbad nodded, ready to hear the story.

"It seemed that two large boot prints were found entering the room, along a smaller print which has not yet been identified, but the focus was that it was at least four sizes smaller than the other. The man was killed with a simple kitchen knife to the throat and left on the kitchen floor, no fingerprints found. Classic Murder, yes? The strange part was that the bathroom. Cleaners scattered on the floor and the boot prints are scene to have been struggling. According to them, there was originally one killer, the small shoe print, and once his job was done two others broke into the room and took him," the man folded his arms over each other. "This could mean a lot of things. Fighting between hitman, two groups fighting each other, cleaning up the ranks, we aren't sure. But after infiltrating the base we thought we had lost the ones that got away. But they are still here. An eye-witness from the building had seen two people exit the building with something in their arms and drove off in a black car. The two men were said to have worn all black clothing, like a uniform. This is not the depiction of the hitmen group we had dispatched; it is proof that another group is now at large," the man said.

Sinbad turned and walked to a chair to sit down.

"So there is another hitmen group in our city that we have no information about that possibly was able to take down another hitman and quietly drive away?" Sinbad asked, not liking the sentence he had just formed.

"Basically. What is more unnerving is that besides the boots and the car, we have nothing to identify them with," the man walked over to his son and grabbed his shoulders. "Do you see why I don't want you out late at night? Who knows how powerful this new group is. We don't know where they are or how many of them there are, it's dangerous, Sinbad."

"It's always been dangerous, Dad," Sinbad said.

"Who do you think are their first targets, hm?" he asked rhetorically. "Would it be the men who were responsible for breaking into their base and arresting a dozen of their friends, or maybe it's the ones following them around and trying to get information on them? Either one points to me and you."

"It's not like I was following one of them I was just looking for clues," Sinbad admitted.

"And if one of them saw you snooping around they wouldn't try and stop you?!" he yelled. "Sinbad, please don't argue about this. I want you to be safe."

Sinbad lowered his head as the guilt was beginning to knar at him. The worn out mug of his father practically begging him to listen.

"…Alright, I won't go out looking around town," Sinbad sighed.

"Thanks," his father reached over and pulled him into a burly hug.

"Yeah, just keep me updated okay?" Sin pulled himself out of the hug with hopeful eyes.

"Yes, yes of course. Now get to bed, its late and you still have school in the morning," Sin's father laughed and pushed him up the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah I'm going," Sinbad laughed.

"Goodnight."

~PageBreak~

From the corner of a metal room a small bandaged figure rose from the shadows, the only visible portion being his closed eyes and some of his hair. Rolls of gauze covered his arms and legs, leading under his tan colored shirt and pants that were pulled under the bandages above his knee.

"You must be the young assassin we have been hearing about," a man walked into the room, his chest held high as he took in the appearance of the teenager before him. "You don't seem like much."

Ja'far stood calmly, watching the man standing on the other side of the room as he turned around. A shine glinted in the light as he moved, alerting Ja'far to side step before being stabbed with a knife thrown directed at his face. The long blade sunk into the wall next to head, missing by only an inch.

"Not bad, follow me," the man turned and walked out of the room, Ja'far close behind.

"You will stay on the 7th level, come when called, don't harm any other member, food is your own responsibility. Become a liability and you will be dealt with," the man turned the corner and paused. "I'm forgetting something. Ah! Yes, I hear that you are skilled in blades," The man pulled a set of triangular daggers from his side pouch, the twins were held together by a blood red string.

Ja'far's dead eyes flew open as he saw the weapons hung before him. They look…just like my old ones.

"Try not to lose these ones, they are very difficult to make," the man said before starting up the stairs. The daggers still hanging from his clenched hands. "Come on, come on."

Ja'far said nothing to the man at the clear taunt, not wanting to upset the man who might possibly be his new master, or be unable to get his hands on the newly made weapons. Climbing up the few flights of stairs he followed the mysterious man.

"You seem to be a boy of few words, am I right?" the man laughed, pushing open a rusted door labeled level seven.

Ja'far remained silent, his eyes stealing a second to take in his surroundings. The hallways were empty, but it seemed to be a habitable place. It is almost…clean.

"Haha, most are, but that makes it easier sometimes," the man laughed, twirling the daggers in a circle as he walked. "These are nice. I prefer my pistols, but a good pair of knives are always handy, as I'm sure you know."

Ja'far continued behind the man without a word, taking in the strange attitude bouncing around him. It was not a common sight amongst killers.

"So this is your room, it has a sliding lock, sleep here or store your stuff we don't care. As long as you can reach the target assigned and attend meetings, the higher ups don't really care," the man said, opening up the door to his newly assigned room.

"Meetings?" Ja'far asked. The man faced the white haired teen with a smile.

"And he speaks! Yes, unlike the rag tag team you came from, Sham Lash has a ranking system that is updated once a year, they're called meetings," the man entered the small room and sat down on the pallet resting against the left side wall, holding up the daggers to look at them closer.

Ja'far could not tear his gaze away from the shine of the metal; he longed to feel that weight once again curled around him, assuring his protection.

"You see, before I let you go, you should know that we do not always give solo missions. There are times when you will be paired up with others in the group and expected to work together," crystal blue eyes sparkled at the shocked look on Ja'far's face, his grey eyes flickering green. "We are given ranks based on how we perform at the meetings and these ranks are then used to form teams and pairings for missions that call for more than just a single man or women."

Ranks? Ja'far stood solid in the doorway. His mind set into a flurry of questions as he was thrown into a whole new system of order. He was not trained to work with a partner let alone a team. He was taught to have deadly aim and take care of himself.

"Here is your phone, it receives up to five numbers, and one is already programmed it will let you know the where's and when's," the man turned and threw the daggers without any other word. Ja'far plucked them from the air and pulled them close, protecting them in case the man would ask for them back. A phone was dropped on his bed.

"Oh! Almost forgot!" the man was sudden an inch away from his nose, an eerily large smile crossing in and out of his view. "Welcome to Sham Lash."


	11. Tutor

Four weeks. A whole month. Sinbad had been slowly biting off his fingertips, wearing out the heels of his shoes, and pulling out his once lush hair. He felt like the shadow of a man, being dragged to follow some repetitive motion over and over against his will. Unlike his father, he did not have resources at his disposal that could aid in finding the allusive snake he came to know and… And what? Biting at the inside of his cheek in punishment, Sinbad pushed aside the depressing thoughts for now. Wallowing in this depression would get him no closer to trapping Ja'far between his arms once again. If anything, have such a dark out look would hinder his chances of seeing any clues. Positive. He had to think more positively, or else Ja'far would be the one suffering.

Is he suffering? Sinbad paused, gripping the plastic chair top to control his anger. What could I even do if he was? Feeling useless and fully drained, Sin slipped back into the chair and draped his hair over his shoulder. The lights stung his eyes, but they seemed to help him focus on something brighter.

"Ah, Ja'far. And here I thought you were a lost cause," the teacher muffled, shuffling through his papers. "You have a lot of work to catch up on if you want to pass this year."

"Yes."

Sinbad's heart froze. His eyes became a camera, burning the lithe figure before him into his memory. It felt like some kind of joke. Today didn't feel special, ten minutes after eight on a Tuesday, it was chilly and the skies were dismal, yet it felt like the best day in his life. Everything was okay now. Everything. Ja'far was alive. He was here. Barely ten feet away. Here.

It was probably a bad idea to run at him, but Sinbad could not restrain himself.

"Ja'far," Sinbad cried, pulling the smaller teen into his chest without another moments hesitation. Life really was worth living, he knew it. This was it. This feeling.

"Sin," Ja'far struggled, trying to pull himself from the arms crushing his shoulder blades and waist, but he could not even budge them. It was as if they were constructed around him with granite or marble.

He knew it was awkward, being in front of the entire class and his teacher, but he could care less at that moment. Ja'far was alive. He was here and with him and everything was going to be fine.

"…Let me go, Sin," Ja'far muttered, looking down at his feet now hovering at least five inches off of the floor.

Placing him back down softly, Sinbad refused to let go of his arms, as if it would cause him to fade away. Ja'far looked down at the hands, but said nothing. The class continued to watch in awed silence. Even the teacher said nothing about the complete lack of regard to personal space. They created their own atmosphere.

Sinbad dragged the thin assassin toward his desk, placing him in the one beside him, forcing another student to evacuate. Ja'far said nothing. His eyes seemed distant; vacant.

Where were you, Ja'far? Sinbad traced over the new rough patches of skin, every white laced scar and yellowing bruises. They were everywhere. There must be more hidden. His vision was swimming, drowning.

Class could not end quick enough.

~PageBreak~

"Okay that's it for today. Look over the notes and read chapter eight for tomorrow," the teacher coughed, rolling around in his chair to face his computer. The class all quickly filed away, giving passing glances to the two still seated.

"Ja'far," Sinbad began, reaching out to hold onto the loose sleeve hanging off of his ghost arms.

"Ja'far," the teacher cut in, standing from his chair and throwing a file onto his desk. "Your string of absences is a major problem. All of this work needs to be finished before the end of the semester if you wish to advance to the twelfth grade with your friends."

Ja'far looked toward the ground, hardly blinking enough to constitute life. "Yes."

Sinbad watched in tense silence.

"Yes, well I'm sure you are aware that the semester ends in two weeks," he smugly pointed out. "How do you plan to finish all of this on top of your current work?"

Ja'far took a step back, bringing up a hand to cover his left eye, rubbing his forehead and pushing his bands behind his ears. He looked so fragile.

"I thought so," he snorted, sitting back in his chair and pushing the file toward the edge of the table. "So I assigned you a tutor to help," turning slightly to look at the taller boy, he continued. "Sinbad, I was told that you signed up as a part time tutor earlier this year, but were unneeded."

"Yeah," Sinbad blinked, not believing what he was hearing.

"Good, meet your new student." he smiled. "Make sure he passes."

"Huh?" Ja'far frowned.


	12. Scalding Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Subconscious self-inflicted harm.

Ja'far was a shell. His usual pale complexion now bordering the lines of transparency, his deep blue veins crawling up his face and exposed hands. His eyes; opaque. What once swirled with curiosity and teenage rage were clouded over with trauma. He had seen it before, but only in clips and sketches his father brought home. Seeing it first hand, watching their blank stare, counting the seconds it takes for the eyelids to slide over the glossy texture, it was hard to swallow. No, he couldn't even manage that. It was choking him, stealing his life.

The bell sent a shock through Sinbad, causing him to flinch and pull his gaze off of Ja'far. Not once had the white haired teen yell at him for staring, he didn't even turn his head. Every warning flag was waving, every siren was wailing. Something horrible had happened. Something awful. And Ja'far is lost.

Numb to the world, Ja'far rose from his seat and floated from the room, combing through the crowd. Sinbad sat in his seat for a moment, to try and get a better grasp of his confidence. The hallway was a blur, his eyes focusing on only one target. The rest wasn't worth his time.

"Ja'far, slow down!" he called out, pushing past his nameless classmates to make up for the few seconds he had waisted. Ja'far didn't look back, instead he continued to walk at an even pace to his next class. Sinbad blew a huff through his nose before lightly jogging up to the specter. "Hey." It came out much quieter than he expected. Looking around at the lines of antiseptically washed lockers, the dirt covered floors covered in foot prints of all shapes and sizes, and then back at the bruised skin of the boy who stood just a few inches short of him.

Two broken marbles flashed behind the fog before hiding behind elongated bangs. Sinbad smiled, wishing he could push back those bangs and tell Ja'far that what ever had happened was over and that he would protect him. Just a few words. But he can't. He was just a teenager himself, with no real knowledge of how to comfort someone. And to even think that he could properly protect anyone was worth two good slaps to the face. What was he going to do? Hide Ja'far in his room and hope no one notices?

Sinbad stumbled for moment on what to say, settling on a quick "I'll be in the library after school." Ja'far nodded before walking away from him and slipped around a corner.

~PageBreak~

"I knew he wouldn't come." Sinbad sighed, pushing the pile of books and paper out of his face. It was now an hour after school had been let out and Ja'far was no where in sight. He should have known, just by seeing the state that the boy was in, it was clear that he was not going to stick around and be given lectures on all the classes he had missed. An unpleasant cry rattled the ground as he slid out from the stiff wooden chair. The librarian looked up at the noise and gave an empathetic smile to the teen, who was obviously waiting for someone.

"Sorry," Sinbad muffled, picking up his supplies and quickly exiting the library, feeling like an uninvited guest.

"Don't worry honey, I'm sure she has a good reason," the librarian waved. Sinbad looked down at the floor, the dusty orange carpet cut precisely an inch away from the marble of the hallway.

"Yeah, I bet she does," he laughed, pushing past the heavy set of doors and out into the skinny hallway. Not waiting to here anymore, Sinbad ran up the stairs and exited the building, leaving the day behind him. He couldn't expect Ja'far to just fall back into his life like nothing happened, that much was obvious. But still, he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was looking forward to this meeting. He had planned to ease the hollow teen into talking about the past month that he had been missing. Even if he didn't get a straight answer, he wanted a hint.

Walking back to his house took twice as long as it should have. His usual quick pace diminished by his constant rolling thoughts. Each worry or theory about Ja'far sending his mind spiraling around in circles.

I just want to be closer to him.

~PageBreak~

Ja'far had been staring at the same scratch in the wall for over an hour. It was like a beacon calling for attention. At least, it must feel like that, right? Because he had no intentions of moving his gaze. Things like motion or facial expressions have been erased from his control.

Sin…A twitch resonated from the back of his eye and resulted in an elongated blink. It was like time had paused and then fell into slow-motion. He was just a floating speck of dust in the room. Existing but not living. He looked…worried. Ja'far rubbed at the marred skin of his legs. The bumpy texture easily felt through the fabric of his pants. I…to think I thought I could ever leave this world. These words ran across an ocean. I wanted to leave. I thought I could. Pulling up the dirt stained cloth, Ja'far eyed the horribly stitched, purple masses.

Walking around the school today had taken its toll on the yet to heal appendages. His muscles were aching, cramping in strange places and burning. His thoughts now centered around the pain, Ja'far was able to tear his eyes away from the wall and hobble over to the bathroom of his newly "acquired" apartment. It was the home of his most resent assignment. A single man in his middle ages, but fairly wealthy man. It was an easy test, given by his new masters, to see if he could efficiently work with his…handicap. It was just temporary, until he can find a better living space. Ja'far had no intentions of living in the room he had been allotted. It was too risky to stay in a place that people knew he inhabited. If he needed to, he might stay a night, but nothing on a regular basis. He assumed it would be another two days before someone comes looking for the original tenant. That was enough time.

The bathroom was tightly packed, but there was a bathtub, a commodity in the city. Ja'far carefully climbed into the porcelain tub, choosing to keep his clothes on. Warmth was his first desire, twirling the silver nozzle until steam bubbled around him, his hands were controlled by something he couldn't quite understand. He let the water flow over his legs and stomach, all the way up to his shoulders before he shut it off. A tingling sensation buzzed around him, loosening his aching body and giving him a few moments of peace. He let his head fall back, the cool stone melting under his cheek, hot and cold. After a few minutes the heat began to bite at his stitches, clawing their way around his ankles and up his thighs.

Grey eyes flashed green in the sudden pain, awakening him from the endless fog of his mind. Ja'far quickly pulled himself out of the water and ran to the sink. His hands were an angry red, shaking like leaves as he ran them under the cool water. Cupping the now numb fingers, he pooled the faucet water and threw it onto his legs, which were now badly swollen. The water splashed onto the ground, wetting everything around him.

"Shit." Ja'far drained the still steaming water and twisted on the cold, not waiting for it to fill up, he climbed in and let the water run along his rattling legs. He wanted to scream at the pain now registering in his mind. "Shit," He yelled again, slapping his forehead with the bathwater. "What the Hell am I even doing?" Ja'far mumbled to himself, a sob held under his breath. His mind was now just flickering back, releasing waves of pain onto his frail body. I'm such an idiot. He had come so close to cooking himself. And he didn't even realize it. Not even the pain.

Ja'far splashed more water on his face, trying not to look at his reflection, it would only make things worse. Feeling more aware of himself, he grabbed some soap and washed his arms and legs, taking care around the stitches. They were made with some kind of thick thread, black, and would most likely not be able to disintegrate. Which means he needed someone to take them out soon, when he's healed. Healed, right. Ja'far bit out a pathetic laugh, his mind dancing over the idea of Sinbad trying to cut and remove his stitches. Sin? Ja'far's face fell. Why am I thinking of him? I would never allow him to see that. Rinsing off the soap, Ja'far pulled his burnt skin from the bathtub and grabbed a towel. He felt strangely better, other than the slight flashes of pain from his now pink flesh.

I bet Sin would laugh if he saw me so burnt. Ja'far dressed quickly and fell onto his new bed, pushing aside a business suit the previous owner left out. I wonder if he waited for me at the library? Ja'far scoured the ceiling for answers, but nothing came to him. He probably did, the idiot.

"Why is he worried about me?" Ja'far said aloud to the empty room. Pulling the blanket closer to his neck. "He has other friends and some form of a future ahead of him. Why does he care?" Thinking back to their meeting this morning, he frowned. Why was he so…happy? Ja'far turned onto his side and tried to clear his mind. Staring at the rest of the bed he couldn't help but picture Sinbad filling the space, his long hair twisting around the pillows and his arms spread out around him. He was just there, sleeping. There was no talking or movement, just there. It was this thought that allowed him to sleep.

"I'm sorry, Sin." I want to see him.


	13. Make a Decision

Ja’far slid his eyelids open as a soft cold breeze swept through his bedroom, pulling a few stray hairs across his brow. The moon was still visible in the sky, its matted blue rays settling on the tops of the city below. The boy fluidly rose from the tattered, brown-stained sheets and walked over to a pile of clothing folded in the corner. There was only two shirts and a pair of pants to be seen, but it was enough for him at the moment.

_It’s cold here._

It had been a week since he had joined Sham Lash and was finally given a small envelope of money which he immediately used to rent an apartment and the little bit he had left went to clothes and food. In the end he was only able to buy a small frozen chicken and a loaf of day old bread to last him for the next month. The cost of housing was higher than he was expecting, but they were willing to over look his lack of legal documents, and it was hard to find a place so close to the school district.

He could and has survived on less food in the past, that wasn’t the real issue, it was the increase of work that had him troubled. At least once a day, sometimes twice, he had been called with a new hit. The first day could have very well been his last, what with his movements slow and restricted from the fresh wounds and stitching that covered his body. Ja’far was not the type to muscle his targets before giving a final blow, he was trained in speed. It would take months before he would be back to his full health and that wardened rest.

The first target, a thirty year old man, had been alerted to his presence after Ja’far had stumbled from a sudden shock of pain that erupted from his legs. Angry blue veins popping up from the purple bruises. The man was a fairly fast runner in his frightened state and managed to put a good amount of distance between him and the teenager. The chase was more irritating to the white haired boy than anything, his legs were screaming and he had half a mind to just drop to the ground and cradle them, but he was used to pain. What he was not used to was failing a job. Ja’far threw his mind to the side and leapt onto the target and wrestled him to the ground. The man had gotten a few good punches and even managed to choke him, but in the end Ja’far was able to slice his jugular and safety disappear.

Picking up a new shirt, Ja’far quickly shed the one he had been sleeping in and slipped into a long sleeved, grey sweatshirt. He regretfully used his arm wrappings as bandages for his legs, and after two days of holding back the blood, had to be burned. The loss was small, but enough to make him frown at the loose material that brushed along his bare arms.

It was early, barely light enough to be called morning, but Ja’far couldn’t sit around and sleep. His body’s aching had barely been letting him have a moments peace, but it was his thrumming brain that pulled him to his feet at 3am.

 _How long ’til the next phone call?_ Ja’far ran a shaky hand through his hair, feeling the snarls tug and slip pass his knuckles. It was his third day without bathing, memories of his burning skin and numbness prevented him from breaking the streak.

Walking to stand under the window, the assassin took a deep breath, his right hand gripped the cellphone repeatedly. It could be minutes, hours, even days before his next mission. The uncertainty had been a constant to him in the past, but now… it set him on edge. Everything had happened so fast it was like he had fallen off a cliff, or more likely, thrown off. How long had it been since he was awoken by a swarm of police officers? How long since he had a panic attack on the stairwell? Since he had followed Sinbad into the coffee shop? Since he had been tortured? Since he became a member of Sham Lash?

“Was I always this weak?” Ja’far huffed, pacing the room to clear his mind. He stretched his tight muscles and cracked his neck, checking over the state of his healing legs. He would have to buy some antibiotic or salve to speed up the recovery process.

 _I won’t be getting another paycheck for two weeks._ Ja’far turned away from the window and hobbled over to the door, his legs still not working as they should.

“I don’t have two weeks,” his eyes narrowed as he exited his apartment and made his way to the elevator. “I need to get some today,” Ja’far jabbed at the lobby button and watched as the light flickered to life. Even if it means stealing and possibly ruining his cover, he would do it. Allowing his legs to fester and rot could lead to permanent damage.

 _That’s exactly what he wanted._ Ja’far’s scowl faded away as his skin hit the cool air.

“Now,” Ja’far felt the ghost of sinister smirk pull onto his lips. “What pharmacy is open 24-hours a day?”

~PageBreak~

“Bye, Sinbad,” a man clad in a police uniform called as he opened a pearly white door. “Don’t be late to school and call me if anything happens.”

A disheveled teen yawn and slouched against the corner wall of the staircase that lead to the front door. A tanned hand scratched lazily through violet locks, the rest of the body relaxing slightly at the pleasant feeling it brought.

“Bye, Dad,” Sinbad yawned, just having rolled out of bed in time to see his father off to work. “Good luck. Give a bunch of speeding tickets today,” the teen laughed. The officer shook his head slightly before waving and exiting the house and making a slow jog to his car.

After nearly tumbling down the stairs, Sinbad trudged into his kitchen and pulled out a bowl and a box of cereal. Filling the bowl with the tiny honey coated O’s, he grabbed some milk and a spoon. After pouring a generous amount of milk onto the dry oat puffs, Sinbad felt a little more awake and walked over to his couch in the living room, which was attached to the small kitchen.

“Best way to start the day is with a healthy amount of false media and a dog story,” Sinbad laughed as he turned on the modestly sized television and flipped to the local news channel.

“-ack to the terrifying robbery at the Magic Meds pharmacy in Brimlock this morning,” came a deep yet feminine voice, a young brunette reporter staring straight through the television screen.

Sinbad sat back into the plush cushions with a raised eyebrow, his lips moving slowly. _Robbery?_ His attention quickly captured as he heard his city’s name and at closer inspection, noticed that the pharmacy was not too far from his house.

“At 4:30am this morning Magic Meds had experienced a sudden loss of power,” the reporter pointed behind her at the small white building, it’s glass windows boarded up with wood. “The employee on duty has reported that he ‘had no idea the store was being attacked’ at the time of the robbery and says that he initially thought it was an electrical problem. He left his position at the register to check the electrical unit in the back and returned to find a ‘figure making his way out the door’,” the reporter turned her head to the right and introduced the employee whose face was blurred out.

Sinbad had finished half of his cereal and was thinking of grabbing some more before he saw the witness. Interested in hearing the rest of the story, he stayed seated.

“Sir, could you explain what happened and what you saw,” the reporter pushed the microphone under the blurred chin and the camera moved to fit only the witness in the shot.

“Yes,” the man nervously started. “I was alone at -um the store and when the lights went out I was shocked-its never happened, but I knew where the light’s power cables where and I went to check them-and uh on my way back I saw this person running toward the doors,” the blurry faced employee waved his hands in front of him as he retold the encounter. “It was hard to see cause the lights were out but I saw a person, they were in a hood and long black pants, something was in their arms and I chased after him saying ‘hey! stop!’,” The man took a gasping breath, his words flying our of his mouth. “I knew they weren’t doing anything good -being so early and all,”

The reporter appeared again on the screen, her head nodding in understanding.   
“So what did the person do after you called out to them,” she continued.

“Well he looked at me for a second and I ran at him, to p-prevent him from, you know, leaving and stealing stuff,” the man stuttered.

“And what happened then,” the reporter encouraged.

Sinbad felt his food settling oddly in his stomach.

“I got between him and the door and he took off, jumping up over the counter, I tried to follow but I remembered the emergency button under the counter and I ran around the counter and pressed it,” hands finally falling to his side, the witness spoke louder. “When the guy saw the doors lock and the alarm go off he looked right at me and I was afraid he had some kinda gun or knife, but he just turned and jumped straight through a window.”

“Through the window?!” the reporter confirmed with a shocked expression.

“Yeah he jumped probably four feet and kept going,”

The video cut back to the reporter. “The attack is thought to have been a coordinated theft including multiple people, but because of lack of video surveillance and the witness could not make out a face, the thief is still on the loose and the police have very little to go on.” The reporter raised her chin as a sharp wind cut through the parking lot. “This is Lena Natsume in Brimlock, back to you,”

“Thank you-” A man continued, but Sinbad was too wrapped up in what he just heard to notice.

“It can’t be,” he whispered, pushing the empty bowl from his lap. It took everything he had not to rush out into the street, call his father and demand to know what was happening and what would happen next. Sinbad knew he was jumping to conclusions, making assumptions and fearing the worse, but he couldn’t deny what his gut was telling him.

Ja’far needed him.

forgetting the cereal bowl and running to his room, Sinbad quickly changed into fresh clothes and grabbed his backpack. Emptying the contents onto the floor he dashed around the house stuffing anything he thought might come in handy: pain relievers, bandages, a towel, two apples, a banana, a pack of granola bars, three bottles of water, and a few other rash decisions he made as he walked to the door.

He knew it was wrong to go after someone who just robbed a store, let alone one that evaded and lied to the police and could have very well been a part of a group of hitmen. It was crazy and stupid, something he would have advised anyone else not to do.

He grabbed the handle.

If he did this, there might be no chance of going back. He would be assisting a criminal. Conspiring with a possible murderer. College would be out of the question and becoming a police officer would be a fantasy. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t sent to jail. And then there’s his father.

Sinbad took a deep breath, his eyes glued to his hand as it held the brass knob.

An image invaded his rational thoughts; a boy too skinny and too white, his hair is unkempt, his style is strange and he always looks hurt. His eyes are green and he likes to read. His lips are soft and chapped, he likes his space and he keeps a lot of secrets.

A sad, but determined smile struck him, giving him the strength to push open the door.

Out of all the options, having a chance to be together with Ja’far, helping him with whatever he was going through, out shined all the negatives.

“I’ve been standing by and just watching,” Sinbad muttered to himself. “Not anymore.”

He started down the street, his eyes searching for anything that might lead him to a clue.

“I’m coming Ja’far, wether you want me or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support in my efforts to keep this fic alive and thriving.


	14. A Backpack Adventurer

 

Sinbad quickly made his way to the Magic Meds pharmacy, it’s parking lot empty except for a few orange traffic cones surrounding shards of a broken glass window on the tar. The building was empty, no film crew, only a few curious pedestrians whispering and pointing from the sidewalk. Crime was always high in a city, but Brimlock was usually quiet, and it had been a long time since it had been on the news.

Making his way around the people, he looked for anything that may have been overlooked or something that would confirm the robber was indeed Ja’far. He was sure that the police would have already checked over the area and were most likely on the streets now searching for suspects.

 _It looks like he didn’t leave much evidence behind_. Sinbad gripped tighter to the straps of his backpack and pushed through the civilians, picking up on the whispered gossip.

“I heard the crash from two streets away!” one woman nodded her head with enthusiasm. “I bet it was a drug addict,” she continued. “who else would jump out a freaking window?”

Shaking his head, the teen moved on to the next group of people.

“You know I bet it was Jin,” a man sniffed arrogantly. “He’s been bragging about this connection he had with some gang group or shit.”

“You gonna tell the cops, man?” heatedly whispered, grabbing the shoulder of the arrogant middle aged man. “What if it wasn’t him?” he insisted. “That’d screw up his life.”

“Like he isn’t gonna fuck up his life already,” the other countered, getting defensive.

Sinbad listened intently, his body facing the opposite way, he pulled out his cell phone and pretended to text someone. This was his best lead yet, even if it was a long shot.

“But what if that gang finds out you called on him? You’d be dead man,” the shorter of the two men was backing off, his head whipping around to see if anyone was listening.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” the two men left the scene and entered a beaten car on the other side of the road.

Scooping out the last few onlookers, Sinbad left and made his way to the outskirts of the city’s center.

“A new gang?” he mulled over the thought. _Could this be where Ja’far came from?_ It hadn’t been long since school had started for the year and he had run into the pale teen, quite literally. It almost brought a smile to his face as he remembered their first encounter.

If Ja’far was apart of this “new gang” things just got more complicated. He had placed the boy as some kind of unwilling participant in the disbanded gang his father had taken down. He had been at the scene and was reported to have attacked the officers in fear. Sinbad bit at his bottom lip. _Was is fear…or duty?_ The image of Ja’far trying to kill his father was difficult to put aside, but he managed.

What if he was risking his life to save a killer who didn’t want to be saved?

Sinbad slowed his pace and adjusted the straps on his shoulders.

 _This isn’t about me._ He firmly rooted in his brain, settling the worry. _This is about helping a friend_. Starting again he placed himself into the shoes of a runaway. _Where would he go?_

“If I was hurt, scared of getting caught…a suspect in a crime…” the teen squinted at the city around him. Around the pharmacy were restaurants, small businesses, three gas stations, places that had cameras watching for crime. Sinbad walked from building to building, studying the cameras. One of the businesses, a bike repair shop, had only one security camera and it faced away from an alley. Feeling confident, Sinbad headed in that direction, stopping a few people to ask if they had seen a skinny boy with white hair.

~PageBreak~

“Fuck!” Ja’far spat, kicking the door to his apartment shut and throwing a variety of stolen goods to the floor. He angrily sucked in air and tried to breathe the fury out of his lungs. The objects now scattered on the wood paneling rolled further into the room.

Bending down with a sigh, the white haired teenager picked up the bottles of pain reliever and the pack of gauze. He also managed to snatch a ‘home stitching kit’, before the man had caught him trying to leave. It had been a while since he had stolen anything and his sluggish legs and bruised body only made matters worse.

Snapping open the first bottle, he gulp down three pills dry, humming in satisfaction as he counted down the minutes before they began taking effect. They weren’t high quality drugs, just over the counter, name brand tablets. Nothing he could get addicted to or possibly destroy his stomach lining… well probably. It recommended taking two, but with the amount of pain he was experiencing, he would take the risk with three.

Ja’far sat down on the edge of the mattress and ripped open the package of gauze. With practiced ease, he uncoiled the wires wrapped around his arms and safely placed the knives next to him. After loosing his weapons once, he was unwilling to let them go beyond a foot from his person, even if it was for a moment.

With a solemn expression and a hint of self pity, he ran his fingers over the red welts that jarred his arms. Without wrappings over the skin, the sharp wires had sunken into his flesh and left angry markings. They looked eerily like a serpent twisting and constricting him.

“Snakes…fitting,” Ja’far whispered, removing his hand and using it instead to unwind the gauze and wrap it around his arms, following the red scars. Once they were snuggly fit and stable he quickly placed his knives back into place, feeling slightly less haunted.

Green eyes flickered to a cell phone on the opposite end of the mattress.

_When will the next call be?_

~PageBreak~

Sinbad had finally found someone who had seen Ja’far.

“Really?!” he pressed, unsure if the man was sure in what he saw. He would still listen to any clue he could get, but he needed to be sure it was credible, and wasn’t being sent on a goose-chase.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure,” the heavy-set man shrugged. “I was out unloading the morning truck and saw some kid in a hoodie run across the street. I think I saw white hair, but I’m not too sure -it was still kinda dark and the kid ran fast.”

Sinbad nodded following the man’s finger when he pointed in the direction he saw the boy run.

“And you say he was carrying something?” the teenager asked, confirming what he had just been told.

“Yeah, but I could’t see it,” a lazy hand scratch at a stubbly chin. “Listen I gotta get back to work. That’s all I remember.”

“That’s fine, thank you so much,” Sinbad smiled and shook the man’s hand firmly.

“Well, sure kid,” the worked smiled, feeling good that he had been of help to someone. “I hope you find your brother soon, there’s been a lot of crime going on lately. It’s not too safe around here anymore.”

“I’m sure the police will clean it up soon,” Sinbad smiled one last time and turned back to the street. “Thanks again!” And with that he jogged across the street and through yet another alley way.

He was getting close, he could feel it.

From there he began asking around for more directions. He had come into the residential hub of the city, apartment buildings and condos everywhere he turned his head. Cheap rentals and motels lined the roads and people bustled to and fro. It was a section of the city he had rarely ventured into, because of it’s reputation and frequent appearances on the news for gun violence and stabbings.

It was the perfect place to hide in a city, in a sea of others who most likely were also hiding from police. The hard part will be finding the building and then finding the room and then…what to say after he knocks on the door.

Sinbad paused. _What am I going to say? Hey, I think you’re the one who robbed a store and I want to help you?_ They weren’t exactly friends…they barely knew each other. It sounded so irrational now that he thought about it, but it didn’t stop him in search.

 _Yeah it’s stupid_ , he said in his head. _But I’m doing it anyway._ His heart had never let him down before.  
  
_I’m sure I’ll know what to say when it comes to that._

~PageBreak~

Ja’far was grateful for the lack of work today. He had been able to cover his stitches in the ointment he had stolen and rest his body. He hadn’t moved in three hours, his mind shutting off just enough to take a nap once in a while. The pain relievers had taken away the major inconveniences and a pounding headache. Having pulled off his sweatshirt and pants to give his wounds some air, Ja’far lied nearly naked atop the bedsheets.

His stomach groaned, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. Looking over to the small fridge in the corner, he debated wether he wanted to eat more of the chicken, or save it for later in the week.

 _It would be best to save it._ Ja’far reasoned, but after another set of growling, he figured having a handful would be more beneficial to keeping up his strength. _Maybe just a handful._ He pushed his arms beneath him and pushed up into a sitting position. Sparks danced in and out of his vision making his head slump back, his body falling back onto the bed.

“Or I could…rest a while longer,” Ja’far mumbled, raising a hand to his forehead and wiping away a layer of sweat. “…Fuck,” he huffed. “This better not be what I think it is.”

Ja’far scowled, pushing back up to look at the stitches on his legs. They had stopped bleeding last night, but now they seemed to be swelling, the area appeared red and blotchy. He knew it was from lack of cleaning. But still, he did not want to go into the bathroom. It just reminded him of that day and the way his skin bubbled in the steaming water.

It was idiotic, yes, to be frightened by the memory alone, but he could not shake it. Settling down again, Ja’far promised himself that the next time he woke up, he would clean the stitching.

As white lashes fluttered closed, Ja’far recalled one of his favorite books; it was about a boy who was born with the power to see and talk with earth spirits. His family abandoned him as a boy, scared of their own son, and he had to live on his own. It was a young adult fantasy, something he picked up from a box of free books, years ago. Nothing that was worthy of any prestigious writing award or even a spot on the best sellers list for the years, but it had caught his eye.

Falling into one of his favorite chapters, Ja’far pictured the forest of red-bark trees and the frozen lakes of Murke. He imagined sitting in front of a campfire, a forest spirit at his side, and looking up at the stars.

How easy the book made running away sound. If you felt unwanted or sad, you could just fill up a backpack and run into the horizon. Ja’far let a small laugh tumble from his lips. _As if you could be properly prepared for anything with whatever fit in a pack._

Ja’far always questioned why the boy would befriend the creatures, it’s because of them that he was shunned since birth. If it were him, he would have ignored the ghostly entities and lived a normal life. However, if he did live normally, he never would have traveled the world and have experienced so many wonders.

Another laugh passed his closed mouth. _I am questioning the decisions of a character from a book._ Ja’far went back to the imagining the landscapes that were described in the novel, the never ending deserts, mountain ranges and forests. The dangerous trips across stormy seas and golden beaches, all danced around his head. If he had been truly sleeping, it would have been the happiest dream he had had in a long time.

“An adventure story,” Ja’far mumbled, his eyes cracking open to look outside at the setting sun, the golden rays glinting familiarly. “reminds me of that idiot.”

A knock on the apartment door sent all happy thoughts to the farthest region of his mind.

Ja’far remained where he was: unmoving and barely breathing. _Who?! Why?!_ The injured assassin panicked, raking his head through all the possibilities of who was behind the door and what his plan of action was.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Ja’far whispered to himself, turning onto his side and sliding off of the bed, snatching his clothes and ignoring the screaming pain it caused to put them on.

Another knock.

Ja’far froze. _Police? No they would have said so_. Ja’far hid behind his bed, eyes stuck on the paint chipped door. _Sham Lash? No they would have called…right?_ The white haired teen tried to calm himself and assess the situation with more clarity.

 _It could very well be Sham Lash after the stunt I pulled today…but it’s too sporadic…they would have called and sent me somewhere I could be taken out without a problem._ Ja’far pushed up to his feet and slithered his way to the door on his toes, silent as death.

Another knock, louder and followed by yet another.

He was three feet away, his knives tightly clasped in his hands, the sparks once again flashing in his eyes, dizzying him.

“Um, excuse me, I’m looking for someone,” a voice spoke from the other side of the door.

Ja’far felt as if his eyes had popped out of their sockets. It can’t be.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Ja’far ran to the door and looked through the peep hole, looking down at the warped image of the teenager standing in front of his apartment.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ja’far whispered to himself. Taking a few steps back in shock, the assassin instantly reached for the door knob, but paused, what was he doing here? I _s this a trap?_

“Hello? I’m looking for a boy with white hair, I heard he lives in this building,”

Ja’far felt his hand reaching for the door knob again and this time he let it. Why? He wasn’t sure.

The door opened so slowly in his mind, but the face that appeared before him transformed in the blink of an eye.

“Ja’far!”

  
“Sin!”

Sinbad burst into the room and threw his arms around the shocked Ja’far, not caring what the consequences would be.

The sudden restraints around him sent Ja’far into a panic, and he pulled a knife up to rest against the tan throat. Sinbad froze in place and dropped his arms.

“Oh, sorry,” he laughed with a quick glance at the silver triangular knives. “I was just a little excited to see you and well -got carried away.”

Ja’far lowered the knife and took a step away, studying the nervous face of the larger set man. Noticing the open door, he flew by Sinbad and slammed it shut, turning back with his knife now tucked away and out of sight.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sinbad,” Ja’far seethed.

“Uh…right,” Sinbad chuckled and ran a hand through his violet hair. “I saw you on the news -well not really, cause there wasn’t any video proof, but I knew it was you,” I really should have thought what to say before getting here.

Ja’far raised an eyebrow. “And why are you here?” his face contorted. “And how in the fucking hell did you know where to find me?”

Sinbad fumbled with what to say for a moment before his eyes took in the state Ja’far was in. His eyes were sunken and brown rimmed, his lips were bitten red and he could see the signs of stitching running up under his pants.

“I came to help,” he said softly, pulling the backpack off and bringing it forward.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been really excited to start writing for this story again, so this chapter was very easy to write. I'll try to keep the updates as frequent as possible.


	15. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of swearing and pent up emotions.

_Ja’far raised an eyebrow. “And why are you here?” his face contorted. “And how in the fucking hell did you know where to find me?”_

_Sinbad fumbled with what to say for a moment before his eyes took in the state Ja’far was in. His eyes were sunken and brown rimmed, his lips were bitten red and he could see the signs of stitching running up under his pants._

_“I came to help,” he said softly, pulling the backpack off and bringing it forward._

_“What?”_  
  
~PageBreak~

Sinbad unzipped the navy blue pack and shoved his arm in, shuffling around its contents. Ja’far was too shocked to stop the other from pulling out whatever he had stored in his backpack.

“Why do you think I need help?” Ja’far bit out, his eyes tracing over Sinbad, searching for a possible motive, a concealed weapon or maybe a wire tap from the police, anything that would explain how and why this school kid was in front of him.

Sinbad’s eyes glanced up shortly before falling back to the bag to continue pulling what he needed out.

“Have you seen yourself, Ja’far?” his voice was quiet but riddled in anger.

Ja’far felt his eyelids narrow and his brow crunch forward, deeply offended. _So what?!_ He growled in his mind. He knew that his physical state was questionable at the moment. Hell, even his mental state had taken a beating. But,  _who the fuck does this kid think he is?!_ _Following me around, pushing his nose into my business?!?! Why?! Does he think he knows more than me?! Is he saying he’s stronger?!_

“I just want to help,” Sinbad continued, set all the supplies on the floor and picked up the pain relievers and bandages. “Have you taken anything yet?”

It was so quick. Like a thread being cut or a vase dropping to the floor.

Ja’far slapping the plastic bottle of medicine out of the extended hand hovering in his face. Sinbad’s eyes flew open, clearly shocked at the reaction.

“Get out of here, Sinbad,” Ja’far yelled, his eyes unblinking, “go back home, go to fucking school, and get out of my life!” he took a moment to get more air into his lungs before a tidal wave of words poured out. “I don’t care what you think you’re trying to do. You can’t help me and I don’t want your help! What ever fascination you have with me is wrong. I’m not some mysterious puzzle for you to figure out. I’m not some innocent lost child. And I’m not interested in letting some high school boy who has nothing better to do than judge other people’s lives and thinks he is so fucking great that he can solve whatever problem their facing, just fuck with my life. This isn’t a fucking movie, you moron! You can’t help me! No one can!” Ja’far crumbled to the ground, his knives falling from his hands, a cloudy haze making it difficult to stay upright. “Just…leave me the hell alone.”

Sinbad’s face fell, each sentence was like a punch in the gut and three slaps to his face. Ja’far’s eyes had been so open and the bite to his words were honest. Before he watched the screaming teen’s body hit the floor, he was convinced that it would be best for him to leave and try to forget the past weeks. But then he heard the thwack of skin and bones meeting the floor. The sound alone sent a bullet right through his chest.

“Ja’far!” Sinbad grabbed his shoulders and started pulling him up from the ground. “Ja’far?! Can you hear me?!” he dragged the barely conscious assassin to the bed and laid him flat, pulling back his eye lids and shaking his shoulders lightly.

“…Leave…it’s…not worth it,” Ja’far glared, wishing he had read more of the package of pain killers he had taken before just throwing them down his throat. _Maybe it’s me that a_ \- “fucking…idiot,”

Sinbad nervously looked around the room, ripping the sheets aside to find any explanation for Ja’far sudden loss of consciousness. His eyes pinned a small blue bottle as the prime subject. He grabbed the bottle and turned it in circles in his hands, reading the warning labels.

“Ja’far stay awake!” he slapped the ghostly white cheeks lightly, hoping he wouldn’t have to resort to anything more serious. It looked like a regular bottle of pain reliever, there wasn’t a lot missing it was still practically full. “How many did you take? Ja’far!”

Sinbad continued reading the warning label, it’s biggest worry was about mixing the medicine with alcohol and taking them before you drive and- wait, driving?

“Wait a second,” Sinbad flipped the bottle around to the front and nearly threw it across the room. “Night pills, Jesus fucking Christ, Ja’far. They’re sleeping pills. Sleeping pills!”

“…whoops,” Ja’far grumbled, his eyes falling shut, a shutter running through his body before he let himself drift off into the drug compelled sleep.

Sinbad huffed and fell backwards onto the bed, his hands covering his face as he let the adrenaline fade from his body.

“I thought I was going to lose you, just when I finally got here” he said quietly, looking over at the ruffled white hair and sleeping face next to him. He had half a mind to reach out and run his fingers through the strands, but refrained himself. “I know that you’re strong, and I may not know everything about you, but I want to.” He gaze sank into the ceiling, hardening. “I’ve already made up mind.”

Rising from the bed, Sinbad picked up the items on the floor and went about fixing the room, taking note of what Ja’far had and what he didn’t. The biggest worry was the lack of food, all of the shelving was empty and the fridge only had a scarce few edible things. He would have to go to a store or something sooner rather than not. The fruit and granola he had packed wouldn’t last them long.

“He’ll probably want tea,” Sinbad snapped his fingers, remembering that Ja’far said he liked black tea when they were at the coffee shop.

With the food issue out of the way…there was basically nothing else for him to look at. No television, no radio, no games or books. The lack of books was the biggest shock, because as far as Sinbad could remember he had always seen Ja’far with a book at school.

“Maybe I should pick one up?” He said out loud, “But…what does he like?” The covers were usually plain, but he couldn’t recall any of the titles. _Maybe I should ask when he wakes up?_

Ja’far’s feet twitched on the bed, making him groan and hiss softly.

The sight of the bandaged and unbandaged wounds was hard for Sinbad to look at. He desperately wanted to clean and change the dressings, just the sight of the swollen blotchy skin made him angry. The stitching and the scars made his furious.

 _How did this happen? Was it a part of Ja’far’s probable involvement with the gang of hitmen? Was it domestic? Was it …self inflicted?_ So many questions ran through his head, all of them unsettling to the point he felt nauseous and angry and heartbroken at the same time.

He always knew that there were people in the world that were given the short end of the stick. Hell, he’d heard and studied these types of cases with his dad all the time. But this was so different.

He knew Ja’far, he talked with him, walked with him, developed feelings for him, he even kissed him. But Ja’far was dealing with things that Sinbad will likely never understand and has been for what seems a long time. _Maybe his whole life._

How was he going to fix that? _I can’t just fix it._

_But I can be there for him now. I can make a difference now._

  
~Page Break~

  
I apologize for the wait, readers. But I am proud to announce that I plan for a love scene in the next chapter! Hopefully I can get it out soon, you all deserve a nice long chapter and I’m sure some of you are dying for some sexy time. I know I am.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic a couple years ago on ff.net and have been slowly continuing it at my leisure. I'm currently writing more chapters but I will warn you that it might take a while. Also, I love hearing critiques, good and bad, so don't be shy :)


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